


saving (breaking) you

by amusewithaview



Series: Nothing but love in view [9]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Avengers Family, Awkward Flirting, Awkward Romance, Bucky Angst, Bucky Barnes Feels, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Bucky Barnes's Ridiculous Hair, Darcy - Freeform, Darcy Feels, Darcy is the fandom bicycle and I love it, F/M, Implied/Referenced Brainwashing, Nurse Darcy, Past Brainwashing, Protective Steve, Protective Steve Rogers, SHIP DARCY WITH ALL THE THINGS, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Soulmates, Up all night to get Bucky
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-24
Updated: 2015-11-26
Packaged: 2018-02-10 06:53:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 34,572
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2015277
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amusewithaview/pseuds/amusewithaview
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When he walked away from her, she never expected to see him again.</p><p>Let alone on her television.  Saving the <i>world</i>.  Life's funny like that.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>(A "What if?" spin-off from the main continuity of "Nothing but love in view.")</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So, again, the first three chapters have been moved over here from "write love on my skin," but all subsequent chapters in this continuity will be posted HERE and not there. I've edited in a link to this fic at the end of the third chapter in "write love on my skin," so people _should_ (theoretically) be able to find it a little easier.

Afterwards, Darcy remembered very little of the day that marked such a massive turning point in her life. Her parents filled in bits and pieces for her, told the story enough times that she might _almost_ have believed their version of events, only, _their_ version was missing something: the one thing that she _did_ remember – _him_.

They had stopped at a roadside rest stop, one of the big ones that referred to itself as an “Oasis” (pretentious much?), on their way to stay at her aunt’s house (yawn) for a family reunion (even bigger, more _dramatic_ yawn). Darcy, newly teenaged and belligerent with it, had wandered away from her parents’ seat in the food court to stretch her legs.

She meandered to the other side of the building and then, with a quick glance thrown back to ensure her folks were where she’d left them, slipped outside. The Illinois air was a bit warmer than what they were experiencing in Wisconsin, and probably a lot nicer than what she could expect in Michigan.

Darcy had been outside for barely a minute when an odd ‘pop pop’ sound came from her right, followed quickly by a screech of tires skidding and a _crash._ She raced for where she’d heard the noise come from, turning a sharp corner around the edge of the building only to find a man seated on the hill beside the road, slowly packing away something shiny and distinctly _gun_ shaped.

He glanced up at her sharp gasp, his stare freezing her in place. She immediately looked down at the gun in his hands, unable to bear meeting his dispassionate scrutiny for more than a moment.

“It’s called a _dragunov_ , кукла. Don’t worry, I doubt you’ll ever see one again.”

Darcy’s eyes shot back up to find cool amusement on his face. She opened her mouth, paused and shut it, then opened it again, finally blurting, “Those are the words on my soulmark. I – I think you’re my soulmate?”

His expression hardened so quickly that she flinched back a little. “Impossible.”

“No, it’s not,” she insisted, “It says – “

“I don’t have a soul.”

Darcy gaped at that pronouncement, stunned into silence while he rapidly finished packing up his gun, stood, and started to walk away. “But I’m _right here_ ,” she said, voice cracking a little over the words.

He paused for a brief moment, but didn’t turn back around, “Go home, little girl.”

“But you’re – “

He spun around just long enough to snarl a vicious: “I don’t _care_ ,” before he continued, disappearing from her sight around another corner in seconds. He was gone, it was almost like he’d never been there.

Darcy’s face felt hot, her eyes scratchy from the threatening press of tears. She watched her soulmate walk away and felt – she didn’t know what she felt. It hurt. The words, they _were_ his words, she was sure of it, felt like they were burning on her chest where they sat dead center on her breastbone.

She walked back to the food court and sat, numb to her parents’ concern over her state and later, their frustration as their travel was delayed for a few hours by some sort of accident on the overpass. She could only sit, hands clenched to stop them trembling while she replayed their encounter over and over and over again in her head.

He said he didn’t have a soul.

He said he _didn’t care_.

He didn’t want her.

He walked away.

Darcy took all her childhood dreams and hopes and wishes and shoved them into a mental file labeled ‘trash.’ She stopped planning her perfect future family (with her soulmate), she shelved her dreams of becoming the first female president and changing the world (with her soulmate). She no longer romanticized what her life (could have been) would be.

It wasn’t as if she never smiled again. She did: she laughed, she enjoyed life, she made new plans – though they were smaller, perhaps a little less grand – to change the world by fixing _people_ instead of _policies_ , she started thinking about her future, she realized that she still _had_ a future.

But though she made friends wherever she went, she never let anyone become _more_.

(didn’t want her he didn’t want her he walked away she never even knew his _name…_ )


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And, yes, in my headcanon, sad!teen!Darcy gives up on changing the world and decides to change individuals by becoming a kick-ass nurse. Honestly, this is mostly because 1) I have a lot of respect for nurses and 2) while I think it's nifty that they made Jane an astrophysicist, I also liked her original backstory.

The first time Darcy saw her soulmate again, he was on the news. She was coming off the end of a double shift, exhausted, annoyed, and just plain _done_ with idiot patients and condescending doctors (not all of them but _just enough_ to grind her last nerve) and the whole system. There were days when she regretted becoming a nurse, any day that involved Dr. Manse was one of them.

She was zoning out in the locker room, halfway through stripping her scrubs and putting on her day clothes – because after sixteen hours there was _no way_ she was wearing those scrubs for a minute longer than she _absolutely had to_ \- when someone unmuted the television in the corner. The blast of sound had her jerking around, glaring at Tina.

“Headache?” the other nurse asked, sympathetic.

“Ugh, _you have no idea_. Do you have to watch that?”

Tina gave her a disbelieving look, “Yes! They finally unmasked that bionic guy who’s been fighting with the Avengers! Well, fighting _against_ and now fighting _for_. Apparently it’s some war hero from, get this, _World War Two_ by way of Russia. Or Hydra.” She paused, shrugged then went on, “It’s all sort of Cold War and they’re being cagey about information but more and more has been leaking out.”

“World War Two?” Darcy wrinkled her nose, “If the Captain knows him, that would explain him switching sides, maybe?”

Tina shrugged, “Makes about as much sense as _bionic arms_. Sure.”

They turned to the television, where commentators were discussing the socio-political ramifications of a bad-guy who was now a good-guy who had been a good-guy originally until he was brainwashed by a militant separatist group – they were throwing around words like “alleged” and “supposed,” which probably meant the situation was more complicated (fucked up) and they were trying to cover their asses – that nobody wanted to acknowledge ties to. It was the sort of thing that Darcy had, at one time, been thoroughly invested in.

Now it just made her tired.

 _More_ tired.

“How long have the talking heads been…talking?” Darcy asked.

“Oh, off and on all day,” Tina said. “Sometimes they cut to portions of the press conference.”

Right on cue, the image on the television switched from a bunch of old white guys to a bunch of _extremely_ attractive and dangerous-looking people, all seated along a long white table in various states of tension while bright lights flashed and questions were hurled at them like dodgeballs at a pack of nerds.

At the center of the group were two _highly_ recognizable figures: Captain America and –

“Fuck,” Darcy muttered, swaying a little where she stood.

“Yeah,” Tina said, “pretty hot for relics, aren’t they?”

She swallowed hard despite her suddenly bone-dry throat instead of answering. Next to Captain America sat a man she never thought she’d see again, one she wasn’t sure she _wanted_ to see again. Her soulmate. She’d seen him once, for maybe five minutes, but his face was burned into her memory.

It helped that, somehow, in spite of _ten years_ he looked _exactly the same._

“Uh, did they say what his name was?”

“James Buchanan Barnes, also called ‘Bucky.’” Tina snorted, “He is the _last_ person I could picture calling _Bucky_.”

“The Captain _does_ know him, then,” Darcy said, still staring at the screen. “They were best friends growing up.”

“And you know this _how_ , exactly?”

“Political history nerd.”

“Right,” Tina nodded, going for her own locker since the news coverage wasn’t actually offering her anything _new_.

Darcy stumbled through the rest of her routine, only muscle-memory saving her from face-planting several times since she couldn’t take her eyes of the screen, or the info-crawl scrolling along across the bottom of it. _Brainwashed_ it said, and also _assassin?_ and, the thing that made her flinch: _memory loss_.

She wondered if he’d forgotten her.

Well, she reasoned, he couldn’t really _forget_ forget, since (she assumed) her words were still on him. Not that her words were particularly noteworthy, just some mumbling about him being her soulmate…not that that information had mattered to him at the time. So, there was that. He definitely knew she existed, but he might not necessarily know that they’d met.

It was strange to think that a meeting so totally ingrained in her memory might not even exist in _his_.

Still, he _might_ remember her. But then, either way, did it really matter? He’d rejected her. Or had he? He was brainwashed, right? Darcy let her head thunk against her locker after she closed it, feeling the dull throbbing of her headache slowly increasing to migraine-proportions. Joy.

“I’m heading out,” she called to Tina, “you can go ahead and crank the volume if you want.”

“Thanks,” she called back, “feel better!”

“Not likely,” Darcy muttered, shouldering her bag and heading out.

She called a taxi instead of taking the bus. Migraine + soulmate bullshit was reason enough to treat herself to a _vastly_ shortened commute. Her apartment, when she reached it, was blessedly cool: thank the lord for air conditioning. Darcy stumbled into her bedroom and flopped face-first into her bed. After a moment or two of debate, she wriggled around enough to shuck her shoes and jeans, and then allowed herself the blissful oblivion of sleep.

Darcy didn’t dream often. Tonight was, unfortunately, an exception. She woke trembling and crying, remembering feelings of loss and an endless, _fruitless_ hunt for something, or some _one_. She went straight to the bathroom and into the shower, not even waiting for it to heat up: it wasn’t the first time she’d had that particular dream, nor would it be the last, no doubt. She had it every time she thought too long or too hard about _him_. She’d had it ever since she met him, and he rejected her: thirteen-year-old Darcy’s worst-case scenario regarding her soulmate had left a bit of a mark.

She leaned her forehead against the shower wall and let the slowly-warming water beat down on her neck and shoulders. It was a stupid dream. She didn’t need to find him, she already had! Or he had found _her_. Whatever. Still, this whole thing was drawing up memories and feelings and…he was joining the Avengers, wasn’t he? That had been the whole point of the press conference: introducing him to the world as James-the-Avenger, not James-the-Bad-Guy.

So. It wasn’t like she could avoid Avengers news coverage. For one thing, it was _everywhere_ , for another, news coverage involving the Avengers tended to be the _important_ , world-ending (or at least changing), sort of stuff that she took an interest in, both because of her political interests and because, well, she sort of lived on the planet and was kind of invested in it continuing to spin.

Darcy went through the rest of her shower routine mindlessly, trying to figure out what to do. Closure. She needed some sort of _closure_. Like a break-up. Sort of. All those years ago, he’d left her, just… _left_. She never got a chance to really say _anything_ to him. Over the years, especially her teenage ones, she’d had dozens of silent debates with him, imagined hundreds of ways they could meet again. Now, knowing what she knew (re: brainwashed, memory loss, etc.) and hopefully a little more mature than that heartbroken thirteen-year-old, she just…didn’t know what to say.

He might not even remember her.

Heck, Darcy thought, her words were pretty ambiguous, and she was pretty sure there’d been some stuttering in there since she’d been thirteen and full of adrenaline because _gun_ and soulmate and, oh yeah, _really big gun_ , there was a possibility that he might think he’d _killed_ her on one of his missions.

Okay, that was a little farfetched. Still.

In the end, she penned a short note - _’I’m alive. You obviously didn’t kill me, in case you were wondering.’_ Short, simple, and no identifying information he could use to track her (ie: no name or return address) - took a picture of her soulmark (which, since it was located just above her _generous_ cleavage, was probably the most awkward sexy-looking-but-not selfie of all time) and stuck them in the mail, sent to Stark Tower or Avengers Tower or whatever the hell they were calling it these days. It would get to him eventually. Probably. At the very least, it made her feel a little better, and that was what was important.

That done, she made the conscious decision to avoid all internet or television activity for the rest of her weekend off and decided to binge-watch a season or two of Grey’s Anatomy. The soulmate issues in that show made her feel slightly less insane, even if their problems were fictional and hers weren’t.

A girl’s gotta have _some_ sort of coping mechanism.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: Darcy expresses a semi-political opinion about FOX and their reporters. I don't _actually_ think they're idiots (but their lady-reporters do kind of scare me because they're all blonde and tan and blue-eyed and look like they could be sisters, it's like FOX has its own version of Disney's Child Star Farm - WHICH I FIRMLY BELIEVE EXISTS).
> 
> ADDITIONAL WARNING: other characters may also comment on FOX. Again, I don't actually think they're idiots (I don't necessarily agree with them, either), but I DO think that, if they existed in the MCU universe, they'd probably agree with J. Jonah Jameson on a lot of things. Heck, the FOX of that universe would probably do a lot of the stuff fans do, like point out that Stark can sometimes be an alcoholic, or that these are some dangerous, crazy (awesome!) people. So, yeah, there's that.

Darcy tried to put the whole ‘my soulmate is a superhero’ thing out of her head after sending off the note, but, while doing so had brought her a certain sense of peace, it was difficult to ignore a person as famous (infamous?) as James. He was on the news every other day, it seemed. All of the old information from the massive dump of Hydra/SHIELD resources onto the Internet was being being combed through by hundreds, if not _thousands_ of conspiracy theorists, all trying to figure out when, how, or _if_ James had participated in Hydra’s plans.

Public opinion ranged from ‘poor lost lamb’ to ‘he should be executed.’ Points the former extreme tried to make included the whole ‘brainwashed’ thing, points the latter extreme made were pretty focused on the idea that there was ‘no statue of limitations on _murder._ ’ For once in her life, Darcy was very, _very_ careful to avoid having a public opinion. The Avengers were _always_ hot gossip, and she was known for her political leanings (okay, _obsessions_ ), so she was asked by coworkers rather frequently.

She tried to take a middle path, tried to detach herself from the fact that she _was talking about her soulmate._

It was…frustrating. Darcy had managed to avoid thinking about him for long stretches of times, for _years_ , and now he was _everywhere_ , inescapable. She would have resented him for it, but she was a little too busy pitying him.

Every time she saw him on the television, whether he was fighting alongside the Avengers (when shit got weird, it got weird _with a vengeance_ ) or giving an interview, he looked so _tired_. He seemed exhausted, body and soul. She knew that, if he was _not_ her soulmate, if he _was not_ the man who had crushed her younger self, she would be defending him.

More information on the memory loss had come out: he’d been mind-wiped, or something, on a semi-regular basis for _seventy years_. Just the idea of something like that happening made her break out into a cold sweat. Add in the bionic arm, which had – apparently – been surgically attached to his body _during World War Two_ and Darcy’s nightmares had new fodder.

She still wasn’t sure how much he remembered, though. She had looked up the word he called her, the one on her soulmark: _кукла_ , years ago. It meant ‘doll.’ He’d called her ‘doll,’ which… wasn’t exactly assassin lingo. So how much had he been himself, really, when they’d met?

It was fucking confusing, and gave her a headache. Darcy had spent so long being angry that it was a hard habit to break, but…she’d been a kid. Even without his whole crazy backstory, it wasn’t like they could have had the fairytale she’d envisioned as a child: their ages were too far apart. Hell, were it not for whatever-it-was that had been done to him, he would be in his _nineties_ now, assuming he was even alive!

Headache city, population: Darcy.

She couldn’t keep herself from watching the coverage, though. Couldn’t keep her trained eyes from noticing the strain and tension that seemed to mount in him, day after day. She sort of wished there was something she could do for him, but – at the same time – she was still all sorts of conflicted about him.

After a few weeks, she started sending him short letters, all much like the first one. If _that_ one had gotten through, then these would too, and it was clear that the handwriting matched. If that one _hadn’t_ gotten through, then it was likely that these wouldn’t, either, so – again – it wasn’t really much. It made her feel better, though.

The notes started out small, little comments on his condition - _You should try and get a decent night’s rest. You’re starting to look like a raccoon._ \- or advice - _Fox reporters are always assholes. Don’t talk to them, stupid._ \- and the occasional remark on his Avenger look - _Have you considered a haircut? Or a ponytail? Seriously, you look like a hobo. A heroic hobo, but still a hobo._

Time passed, and the world got used to James, or “Bucky,” just like it had gotten used to Natasha Romanova, Steve Rogers, and aliens. The coverage didn’t die out entirely, but it got a lot less… _pointed_ , but by this time Darcy was _invested_. She still wasn’t entirely sure how she felt about her soulmate, but he seemed like a decent sort of person, so she wanted him to be…not miserable?

And he looked miserable. _Really_ miserable.

He kept giving interviews, she wasn’t really sure why, always with Captain America or the Black Widow at his back. In every single one, he looked…sort of lost? She didn’t really know how to properly describe his expression, but it made her heart hurt. She tried to give him feedback on the interviews she managed to catch (and with Tivo, that was all of them), constructive letters she intended to kindly critique his ability to manage the press. He _was_ getting better, so either her notes _were_ getting through, or the PR team was working _extra_ hard to make him presentable.

Her notes had also gotten a bit longer. They were more like actual letters, though she was still _extremely careful_ to scrub any and all identifying information. Darcy still mostly stuck to making observations, but she explained them a little more thoroughly. Gone were the two-sentence notes, now there were actual _paragraphs._ It was like Ask Annie in reverse.

She was, at the moment, catching up on the handful of interviews he’d done during her work week. Only three, this time, and she’d already written out notes on two - _Seriously, find some way to fix your hair. How you can consistently look so unkempt when you work with someone like the Black Widow, I will never know._ and _When the interviewer asks to touch your bionic arm and goes for a_ bicep squeeze _they are FLIRTING with you, numbskull, not trying to find a hidden weakness!_ \- and was mentally preparing to queue up the third. It had a rather daunting (ie: trashy) title: _Bucky Barnes’ Significant Other?_. She was already cringing, expecting the interviewer to be some ditzy idiot from a teenybopper magazine, but that wasn’t what she got _at all_.

It faded in mid-question, so it had obviously been cut down as a teaser for a longer interview. There were a few questions about how James got on with the other Avengers: softball questions, she thought they were called. Stupid little things to get him relaxed, so the interviewer could attempt to throw him off with a harder question. She’d seen this kind of thing before, usually reporters tried to steer him towards some sort of confession about his past deeds, occasionally they tried to get him to say something about Steve.

 _This_ interviewer asked him about his soulmate:

”It’s on record that you had no soulmate when you first served, what about now, seventy years later?”

James stared at the woman, wide-eyed in a way that made the answer pretty stinkin’ obvious. The Black Widow, hovering at his left, was giving the interviewer a look that, had it been pointed Darcy’s way, would have sent her screaming for the hills. James glanced over to the redhead, a grimace on his face, but she merely nodded in return. It must have been some sort of prearranged signal, because when he turned _back_ to the interviewer, he was much more composed.

“Yeah,” he said, making Darcy gape at the screen, “I’ve got a soulmate now.”

The interviewer did not seem prepared for that response. “Uh…have you met them?”

“Apparently. I don’t actually remember it.” _Well, that answers THAT question._

“Then how do you _know?_ ”

James was doing his not-smile thing where he was attempting to project good humor, but really looked like he was trying to ignore a bad smell – he’d done it a lot with the reporters from Fox before he’d wised up and _stopped answering their stupid questions_. “I know,” he said, in a tone that said that that subject was very much closed. “They watch all my interviews,” he continued, glancing directly into the camera.

“Oh shit,” Darcy whispered, because suddenly his tendency to seek the spotlight was making _a lot more sense_.

“Well,” the interviewer said, obviously off-track, “is there anything you’d like to say to them?”

James stared directly at the camera with his scary sniper-level focus. Darcy knew he couldn’t _actually see her_ , but that stare was clearly meant to be directed _at_ her. Even through the screen she felt positively _pinned_ by that gaze.

He cocked his head to one side, considering, then offered the camera a very small smile and said five words that made the hair stand up on the back of her neck, and had her slamming her laptop shut and heading for her stash of rotgut vodka.

“I’ll see you soon, кукла.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *affects Dr. Nick voice* HEY EVERYBODY! Okay, so, remember that thing I said about helping out the SIL? Yeah, been doing that. Helping a nearly-nine-month pregnant lady care for a 6, 8, and 10 year old DOES NOT leave a lot of time to write. (Or any, really: I wrote this instead of sleeping.) Please do not ask me when I will next update (aka asking when I will next have 5-6 consecutive hours to sit down) or whether or not I've forgotten this series (I haven't).
> 
> That said, I hope you enjoy this chapter, it took a turn I was not expecting.

The first letter had hit the Tower like a bolt of lightning, only far more startling since one of the occupants _habitually_ struck the Tower with lightning. JARVIS, who sorted _all_ Avengers-related mail – whether it be fan or hate – had brought it to Tony’s attention, who had taken it to Pepper, who took it to Steve, who sat down with Bucky and, well –

Bucky’s flesh hand shook as it clenched around one corner of the paper. His face was blank as he read the words over and over again. He recognized that handwriting. He saw it every day: it ran down the inside of his forearm – the one he had left - in messy cursive.

_Those are the words on my soulmark. I – I think you’re my soulmate?_

He’d traced those words a thousand times since he woke up, _really_ woke up, with his memories both good _and_ bad starting to realign. He had a thousand questions. The stutter…was it timidity, or fear that made his soulmate stammer? Was this a conversation yet to come, or had he met them while in the hands of Hydra? What if his soulmate _was_ Hydra?

Or, his worst fear, what if his soulmate had been one of his assignments?

Bucky stared at the letter, at the reassurance his soulmate had sent him, and felt relief sweep through him like a cool breeze on a hot day. They were _alive_ , he hadn’t hurt them. _Alive._

“There’s a picture, too,” Steve murmured, handing him a Polaroid.

His metal fingers twitched in reflex when his brain finally processed what he was seeing: the image was of handwriting, _his_ handwriting, on skin. _It’s called a dragunov, кукла. Don’t worry, I doubt you’ll ever see one again._ The words were clustered just above what was clearly a woman’s generous cleavage.

“’Doll,’” he muttered, staring at the picture.

“What?” Steve asked.

“ _Doll,_ that’s what кукла means. I called her ‘doll.’”

The faintest glimmer of humor appeared in Steve’s eye. “Not even Hydra could kill your charm.”

Bucky chuckled roughly, “I couldn’t have been _too_ charming: she didn’t leave a way to write back.”

“But now we know,” Steve said, “she’s out there, we can help you look.”

His eyes flicked from the letter to his friend’s earnest face, and he smiled grimly, “I don’t think she wants me to find her, and I don’t blame her. No, Steve,” he held up a hand when it appeared the other man would protest, “I’m not…I don’t know if I have enough soul _left_ to be someone’s soulmate. She’s protecting herself. That’s smart.”

“That’s _bullshit_ and you know it. You’ve got a soul, Buck, you’ve got a heart, one of the biggest I’ve ever seen, and it took more’n seventy years, but you’ve got a _soulmate_ now, and I know, I _know_ what that means to you!”

Bucky was tense all over, metal arm softly clicking at a furious speed as it flitted through its various pressure settings. “It means somethin’ to me, yeah. But I fucked up, Steve, I did something’ already, somethin’ that must’ve scared her. She let me know she’s alive, she’s stopped me from waiting for a meeting that’s already happened: she’s already given me more than I probably deserve.” He let out a slow breath, and shook his head, “I never chased after anybody who didn’t want to be chased _before_ , I’m certainly not gonna start _now_.”

“Bucky…”

“Let it _go_ ,” he growled, standing and stalking off.

Steve watched him go sadly, but he noticed and decided to take hope in the fact that, despite his words, Bucky had taken the letter, the picture, _and_ the envelope with him. He’d ask again in a few months, maybe then Bucky would be ready to consider looking, once he was ready to believe that he deserved a chance to be happy.

…

Of course, Steve didn’t have to wait a few months to bring up Bucky’s soulmate because within a few _weeks_ another letter arrived. This time, JARVIS took it straight to Steve, who took it straight to Bucky. He didn’t know what the letter contained, and didn’t want to ask JARVIS, but – since the AI hadn’t been alarmed – he was confident that whatever it contained must be positive.

He passed Bucky the letter with some pancakes, quietly sliding them down the island, past Clint and Bruce. Steve had assumed that Bucky would wait to open the letter, but as soon as he saw the handwriting his eyes went wide and he was tearing into it like he went after Hydra goons.

Bucky held the letter very carefully, and Steve watched him read it with apprehension, then stunned surprise as Bucky _smiled_. It wasn’t the bright, beaming thing that Steve remembered from their childhoods, but it was still lit up his eyes with happiness, even if it was just the barest quirk of his lips.

“Gettin’ fanmail?” Clint asked, curious.

“No,” Bucky said, still smiling down at the letter. He looked up and locked eyes with Steve, “She says I need to start gettin’ more sleep, apparently I look ‘like a raccoon’ on T.V.”

He didn’t need to say more than that, Steve knew what had Bucky so happy: his soulmate was watching him, his soulmate was concerned about him, she _cared._ As far as Steve was concerned, that was the _least_ of what Bucky deserved, but he wouldn’t mar his friend’s happiness by griping about what _wasn’t_ being said when Bucky was so happy about what _was_.

“So…not fanmail? I didn’t know you knew anyone outside the Tower,” Clint said.

Bucky looked over at the other two men, to Clint’s open curiosity and Bruce’s friendly apathy (it was hard to get the scientist to be really invested in a conversation after one of his science all-nighters with Tony and Jane, but before he’d managed a mug or two of tea). Steve watched the interaction with bated breath, he knew that Bucky was opening up to everyone more, that he was finally accepting that he had a place in the Tower, a place on the team, but this represented a whole new level of trust.

“It’s a letter from my soulmate,” Bucky said slowly, eyes flicking back to Steve and then rolling a little – probably recognizing Steve’s anxious hope.

“I didn’t know you had a soulmate,” Bruce said.

“I didn’t, before. I do now.” Bucky slid his sleeve up, exposing the writing there and letting the other two men see, “I have no memories of her, not even of meetin’ her. She sent me a letter a few weeks ago to let me know that we’d met and,” he shot a wry look to Clint, “that I hadn’t killed her.”

“Very considerate.”

“Yeah…” Bucky sighed, “I didn’t think she wanted anything to do with me, but she just – “ he waved the letter at them.

“Anything you’d like us to do?” Bruce asked.

“Nah, just…letting you know, I guess.” Bucky pushed aside his pancakes, even though he hadn’t really touched them, and stood, letter in hand, to go. He punched Steve in the shoulder on his way out, with his _metal_ arm, saying, “And stop lookin’ like a ma who just arranged a successful play date, you big loon.”

“But it’s so _nice_ to see you making friends!” Steve called after him.

The gesture Bucky made needed no translation.

When Steve turned back to the table, he found two sets of eyes locked on him.

“So, his soulmate?” Clint asked, “Someone we should worry about?”

“No way of knowing,” Steve said, grimacing, “she didn’t exactly leave her name. Or a way of contacting her.”

“Ouch.”

“Yeah…he asked me to let it go.”

Bruce gave Steve a knowing look, “And so you…?”

“Asked JARVIS to do what he could to track the letter back to its origin _without_ alerting Tony.”

“And?” Clint prodded.

“And nothing: her fingerprints aren’t on file, so she’s not a criminal – “

“Or maybe she just hasn’t been _caught_ ,” Clint muttered.

“ – and she didn’t put in _any_ identifying information. He tracked the letter back to Chicago. That’s it. That’s what I know.”

“So, waiting,” Clint hummed. “That sucks.”

Steve nodded and turned back to his breakfast, frustrated, but a littler happier.

And then another letter showed up.

This time, JARVIS took it straight to Bucky…who took it straight to Steve.

The soldier looked up from his punching bag to find his friend entering the gym with the oddest look on his face, staring down at a sheet of paper - _Another letter_ , Steve realized, and his stomach flipped with the odd sensation of mingled worry and hope.

“Whatsit say this time?” he asked, hugging the bag to stop its swing.

“She says I need to fix my hair,” he grumbled.

Steve snorted.

Bucky glared at him, “Shut up. I cut it. It’s just…easier.”

Steve knew what Bucky wasn’t saying: that leaving his hair long helped him figure out where, _when_ he was when he woke up from yet another memory-flavored dream (or, more frequently, _nightmare_ ), that the hair was one of his trademarks as the Winter Soldier, a reputation that he was only just now becoming comfortable using – to the Avengers benefit.

Still. “Your ma would’ve had your hide for it,” Steve said, grinning.

Bucky smiled, an expression that was coming more and more easily to him. “Yeah, she would’ve.”

It was easier to be happy for Bucky after that, once the letters started coming on a regular basis.

Natasha was the one who first picked out the pattern, three weeks after the second letter: “She’s watching your interviews,” the redhead said, carefully sorting through the letters Bucky had out on the common table, paying special attention to the dates. “Most of the letters come within a day or so of one of your public appearances.” Natasha snorted as she scanned one of the earlier letters, “And she’s right, your interviews with FOX have been the worst sort of fear-mongering drivel, only the Bugle is worse, _stop talking to those idiots._ ”

“I dunno,” Tony said, smirking at one of the letters, “her commentary is pretty fabulous. I’d love to see her reaction if you took Jameson up on his _generous_ offer.”

“Do _not_ ,” Natasha said firmly, “even _consider_ it.”

Steve watched the goings-on with what Bucky had exasperatedly called his ‘proud papa’ smile: “You usedta get it every time one of the Commandos solved a dispute in the ranks, it’s your ‘can’t we all get along’ smile, _shut up_ , Steve.”

Bucky looked from Natasha to Tony. “I could do more interviews,” he said slowly, “but not that Jameson guy, I’ve seen some of what he’s printed on Spider-Man. Asshole’s got a face made for punching,” he grimaced, “and have you seen his mustache?”

Steve also grimaced because he _had_ seen the mustache, and he agreed that it was in poor taste. “More interviews, Buck – you sure?”

Bucky shrugged, eyes focused on the most recent message - _Have you considered getting some color into your costume? Even the arrow guy has color accents, admittedly they’re_ purple _, but still. Solid black is kind of creepy, and doesn’t exactly send that ‘good guy’ message. DO NOT LET TONY STARK DESIGN YOUR COSTUME, EVER. Look up what he stuck his pal Col. Rhodes with, the War Machine looks like Uncle Sam threw up on it. Although, you are friends with Captain America, so maybe you think that’s alright…something to consider._ \- “They’re the only way I can talk so she’ll listen, and she’s been listenin’, Steve.”

Steve and Natasha exchanged looks, and then silent nods.

“Alright,” the redhead said, “we’ll help you.”

“We’ll all help you,” Tony put in, “with your _obviously_ fashion-challenged soulmate. Red and gold are – “

“No, Tony.”

“But – “

“ _No._ ”

…

The aftermath of The Interview was…painful.

“That was a stupid move, James,” Natasha said repressively.

“I know.”

“But she’s been consistent,” Tony argued, he had been the one who had been pushing for more aggressive tactics, telling Bucky he needed to directly address his mystery soulmate in the hopes that her response would provide more data with which to find her. “She’ll respond, she’s got to – you practically threw down a gauntlet!”

“Not everyone reacts well to being pushed,” Bruce said softly.

Bucky’s shoulders hunched further, practically around his ears at this point, “I fucked up. _Again._ ”

“You don’t know that,” Steve said, “Bucky…”

“No, Steve. I knew she was scared, we _all_ knew she must be scared, and I went and told the world about her, then practically _threatened_ her, on television! I’m an idiot, I shoulda… I shoulda just been happy with what I had. It was more’n I deserved,” he muttered, Brooklyn coming out more and more with his distress.

“James…” Natasha started, remorse on her face.

“No, just…let it go.”

“Your lady may yet write,” Thor said, finally offering an opinion, “it is not wise to look for fault when trouble has yet to be found. Wait, my friend, give her time. She seems a lady of wit and courage, after all – her fear has not prevented her from reaching out to you.”

“Thor’s right,” Clint said, “don’t borrow trouble.” He grinned, “Hurry up and wait.”

Bucky sighed, a long, drawn-out sound that seemed dragged out of him, then nodded.

One week passed without a letter, and Bucky started getting twitchy. He greeted every pap with a camera, not actively seeking the press – but no longer resisting it, even passively. By the third week, everyone in the Tower was feeling the strain. Tony had had to upgrade the punching bags and half the weight machines in the training room no less than three times, and two coffee machines had been broken (though, to be fair, one of those was probably Clint’s fault).

Then, during a team breakfast on the Tuesday of the fourth week, JARVIS announced that there was a letter for Mr. Barnes. Bucky retrieved it from one of the mini-bots that made up the AI’s hands in the Tower and took it with shaking hands back to the table where the rest of the Avengers sat.

“Can you…?” he asked, passing it to Steve.

Steve nodded, and opened it, pulling out several sheets of handwriting with a distinctive messy cursive that everyone in the Tower recognized. He couldn’t help but notice that –

“Longest one yet,” Clint said with a low whistle.

“That’s either really _good_ , or really _bad_ ,” Tony opined, then squawked when somebody kicked him.

Steve took a deep breath, and started reading: “ _Dear Soulmate, You’re an asshole, but I kind of already knew that from our first encounter._ ”

“Well, she certainly doesn’t pull any punches," Clint muttered.

“ _I’m not sorry that I stopped writing you (you freaked me out!) but I am sorry that my not-writing made you worry, or whatever. I’m still alive, obviously, but also kind of pissed at you. Did you HAVE to tell the WHOLE WORLD that you have a soulmate?_ ”

“She’s…kind of got a point, there,” Tony said, sotto voce.

“Shut _up_ ,” Natasha hissed.

“ _You’ve got more enemies than the freaking New York Yankees,_ ” that made Bruce snort, “ _and they would probably LOVE to get their hands on – okay, that’s probably not going to help you with your weird have-all-the-possible-interviews freak out._ ” Steve paused to look at Bucky: he sat at the table with his hands fisted in front of him, metal arm starting to whirr gently as it went through its settings.

“ _I’m not sure that I want to meet you again,_ ” Steve read the words slowly, trying to keep his expression neutral, “ _It’s not because of anything that you did while you were brainwashed, or whatever they’re calling the fucked up shit you went through, but because… ugh. Okay, when we met, I was young, and you hurt me very badly. NOT PHYSICALLY!!!_ ” Steve paused, “Uh, that last bit is underlined four times,” then he went on reading, “ _I was very angry with you for years and years and got used to the idea that my soulmate was out there, but wanted nothing to do with me (which is what you said to me, fyi)_ ” there was a soft crunch as the table dented under Bucky’s metal hand, “ _and then you showed up ON T.V. when I had never expected to see you again._ ”

“Are you sure you want us all to hear this?” Bruce asked, concern radiating from him.

“Yes,” Bucky grit out. “I can’t – “ He took a breath, “Steve. Please…go on.”

“ _Maybe I shouldn’t have written you that first letter? I don’t know. I wanted you to know that I was alive, I guess, and with all the stuff the news was saying about brainwashing, I didn’t know if you would even remember meeting me. I thought you deserved to know that we’d met._ ”

Bucky laughed, and Steve’s hand clenched around the letter at the harsh, grating sound.

“ _I spent more than ten years thinking my soulmate wanted nothing to do with me, having been rejected in a pretty brutal (NOT PHYSICALLY BRUTAL) way, and then I find out that you were not yourself in a BIG WAY when it happened._ ”

“Mind control tends to do that,” Clint muttered, frowning.

“ _But you called me ‘doll,’ which isn’t very secret-assassin-y. I assume. I haven’t exactly met many assassins._ ”

“Well, that’s a relief,” Tony said brightly, then flinched as someone kicked him again.

“ _I guess I don’t really know how to feel about you. I wrote that first note for ME because I wanted closure. I wrote all the other notes for YOU because you always seem so sad in your interviews and -_ ” Steve frowned down at the paper. “Uh, the pen sort of trails down the page and then there’s a…flower.”

“She drew a flower?” Clint asked, amused. “Let me see!”

There were a few noises of assent from around the table, so Steve dutifully turned the sheet of notebook paper so everyone could see the flower, an odd sort of daisy with spiky leaves and striped flowers. Bucky didn’t look up from his clenched fists, waiting for Steve to go on.

“ _I don’t want you to be sad. You deserve to be happy._ ”

Bucky’s head snapped up, staring straight at Steve.

“That’s what it says,” he told him evenly. “You wanna look?”

Bucky shook his head slowly. “I believe you,” he said hoarsely.

Steve coughed, then resumed reading, “ _Of course, then you go and say THAT in your interview! What the hell was that?! I’ve spent the last week thinking I was going to get shoved in a big black van or something! Was that supposed to be a hint? That YOU want to meet ME? I don’t really know any other way to take it._ ”

“It wasn’t a very subtle hint,” Tony muttered, then immediately shoved his chair back.

Natasha glared at the scientist and pulled out a small knife, ostentatiously trimming her nails.

“ _So, to recap, 10+ years knowing you didn’t want anything to do with me, a few months of knowing that you weren’t exactly yourself when you said that, and the last three weeks knowing that you’ve been getting my notes (I didn’t actually think any of my letters would get through!) and reading them (although you still haven’t fixed your frigging hair, what the fuck)._ ”

Clint chuckled approvingly, “Bit of a potty mouth, huh?”

“Why don’t you ever kick _him?_ ” Tony asked Natasha resentfully.

“ _I_ kicked you,” Bruce said, “now shut up, and let Steve finish the letter.”

“ _And then that “See you soon” bullshit._ ” Steve glanced up to find Bucky staring back at the table, eyes glazed. “Bucky?”

“Go on,” he said tonelessly.

“ _I’m still not sure if I want to meet you again, but I guess, if you want one, you deserve a second chance at a first impression, now that you’re more you and less puppet-of-a-creepy-would-be-overlord._ ”

Bucky’s eyes shot to Steve, wide with surprise and increasing hope.

“ _I’m coming to New York in a week. I’ll figure out a way to get in touch with you when I get there._ ” Steve snorted, finding it hard to speak around his grin, “She signed off with a _'See you soon, кукла_.'”

“Steve…” Bucky’s whole frame was shaking.

“You deserve this,” Steve said fiercely, “you _deserve_ it, and she thinks so too.”

“One week is little time,” Thor declared. “We must make preparations!”

“How do you prepare for your second first meeting with your soulmate?” Bucky asked, face twisting.

“Watch _a lot_ of romantic comedies,” Tony said.

“Meditate,” Bruce advised.

Clint rolled his eyes, “Go about your life normally, what’ll happen will happen.”

Thor was more solemn, “Prepare a suitable gift for your beloved.”

“We can start surveillance on some of the more likely hotels,” Natasha offered.

“We’re with you, Bucky,” Steve told him, “we won’t let you mess this up.”

Bucky smiled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Over the last few months I've gotten some new tumblr followers…I'm assuming it's because of this series. If you want to follow me, go for it (I'm under the same name there as I am here), but I don't really post about my writing over there. I mostly just reblog my feels (WHICH ARE LEGION) on things including but not limited to posts dealing with the Avengers, Teen Wolf, Harry Potter, and hockey.
> 
> *sends hugs to everybody* Thank you for all your feedback, I will write when I can!
> 
> (I have plans to adapt one of my crazy days here as a fic, because the ridiculousness we experienced was _immeasurable_.)


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been writing since the kids went to bed. SUCCESS!

Darcy allowed herself fifteen minutes to quietly hyperventilate while she made her way back home after dropping at the post office. It was signed, sealed, and would soon be delivered. There was no going back, now. Or, well, technically she _could_ , but that would make her a colossal bitch of the kicking-puppies variety.

It was Friday, her letter would probably get to the Tower sometime next week, so she had a little over eight days to get ready for her trip. To New York. To meet her spysassin soulmate. Wow, yeah, maybe she’d allow herself a _little_ more time for hyperventilating.

She booked a ticket, and then debated the merits of calling up one of her cousins to see if she could crash with them during the visit. Plus side: no hotel bill, downside: no privacy. Also, the slim possibility that Avengers might track her back to the apartment and – and –

Well, she wasn’t exactly sure. Probably not the best way to meet the family. Or the heroes-in-law.

_Oh god._

…

It took till Monday for Darcy to be able to piece together her thoughts enough to make a decent plan of action. She was going to New York, she would book a hotel (something nice, but cheap, that was sort of do-able, right?), and she would take a day or so to sight-see and scope out possible meeting points.

Then, of course, there was the question of: how should she get in contact with him? The letter-writing thing worked while she was in Chicago and he was in New York, but she was working with a much shorter timeframe. She’d planned for a week in the city: she could afford it, and she had the vacation days saved up.

She could call? Maybe?

She hopped online and looked up ways to contact the Avengers. _I can’t believe I’m doing this,_ Darcy thought to herself as she clicked through the freaking _fan page_. It was surreal, really and truly, and she was trying _very hard_ not to think about how bizarre the whole situation really was. She found three phone numbers and about fifteen different email addresses that might work. The phone numbers were all technically hotlines for crime reporting, which…not exactly what she was going for, but she technically _had_ witnessed a _something_ when she first met James…

_Also_ something she usually tried pretty hard not to think about.

The email addresses were for various departments within Stark Inc. and for Avengers fan mail. Each of the Avengers had their own address, Hulk had _two_ if you wanted to get technical about it. This was definitely an option. Probably. Sort of. She’d have to think up a way to prove that it was _her_ emailing him, and not some crazy person claiming to be his soulmate and asking for a meeting.

She _felt_ like a crazy person, but she was pretty sure that was an appropriate reaction to this situation.

It was looking like this was going to be her best option.

“Fan mail,” Darcy muttered, staring at the screen, “what _even_.”

She spent a second or two pondering the merits of buying a pay-as-you-go phone and calling in about seeing a crazy guy wielding a _dragunov_ , but that seemed a little too _Burn Notice_. She was drawing comparisons between her life and a fictional series about a spook _and the fiction wasn’t crazy enough to accurately compare._

“Therapy,” Darcy sighed, “I need _so much_ therapy.”

…

The week went by quickly, _too_ quickly.

Before she knew it, she was standing in the terminal, checking her bags. She stared at the pink duffle as it went by on the conveyer belt, soon it would be going to New York. _She_ would soon be in New York. Fuck.

“You alright, ma’am?” the desk attendant inquired politely.

“Ever feel like your life is a movie?”

“…occasionally,” the attendant answered carefully. He studied Darcy for a moment, then continued with a small smile, “I like to put together a list of songs that would be appropriate for whatever ‘scene’ I feel like I’m in. Sometimes I try to will myself into a montage.”

“You’re a good person,” Darcy told him sincerely.

“Ah, thank you…is that all you’ll be checking today, ma’am?”

“Yes.” _I would check my sanity, but I’m pretty sure I already lost it._

…

She was too nervous to enjoy New York.

The flight was fine, she made it to her hotel easily, and then she immediately sat down and made a list of places she could meet him in. She wanted to keep it slightly public, but with an option to go somewhere slightly _less_ public. She was looking for the perfect balance between lets-not-make-a-scene and why-don't-I-just-drag-you-back-to-my-lair-for-a-private-chitchat? (or Tower, as the case may be). This sucked because she didn’t really know what kind of meeting to prepare for. She didn’t really know what he wanted, besides a chance to meet her. Probably. She assumed.

Mall? Too loud.

Park? Too public.

Restaurant? Too date-like.

Bar? Her anxiety plus proximity to alcohol was probably not the best mix.

Museum? That…had possibilities.

There were a _ton_ of museums in New York, like the Met! She could meet him at the Met, that would probably work. All she’d have to do is pick a painting to meet him in front of, and that should do it. Plus, she liked museums, she wouldn’t mind hanging out in one for a few hours while she waited around to meet…yeah.

She Googled ‘paintings Met’ and scrolled down until something jumped out at her: a picture of two lovers running from a storm. Yeah, no, too close to home. Actually, _all_ of the portraits were a little too…she focused on the landscapes and quickly found something she liked: a painting of a big blue wave. It was called “The wave,” which –

“Convenient,” she muttered, “I’ll take it as a sign.”

So, she had a specific location, now she just had to let him know.

Darcy stared at a blank email screen (complete with cursor blinking at her in what she felt was an accusatory manner) for fifteen minutes before slamming the laptop shut and going to bed.

Tomorrow, she could let him know _tomorrow_.

…

She went to the Met the next day…and chickened out.

She went the day after that and…same result.

On the _third_ day, Wednesday, Darcy screwed up her courage and asked to borrow someone _else’s_ phone (her courage had only allowed itself to be screwed so far) and sent the email off.

_Dear Soulmate, I’ll be in the Met, in front of “The wave” at 4:30PM. See you there?_


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M GOING TO BED, GUYS.
> 
> I mean, I love you all and am obviously powered by your reviews, BUT BED. BED NOW.
> 
> (I MORE THAN DOUBLED the length of this storyline today, I AM DONE NOW.)

Bucky spent a few hours destroying punching bags after Steve read the letter.

Different sections of it kept popping into his head. _You’ve got more enemies than the freaking New York Yankees,_ he punched the bag with his flesh arm. _I’m not sure that I want to meet you again…you hurt me very badly,_ a punch with the metal arm. _I don’t really know how to feel about you,_ flesh again. _I don’t want you to be sad. You deserve to be happy,_ there was a whir-click and then a loud thump as his metal arm sent the punching bag flying across the room.

He stood there, panting a little and staring at it where it had landed lying at an angle across a stack of weights.

“You know, Tony built the reinforced bags so you and Steve would stop wrecking _ours_ ,” Clint drawled.

Bucky shrugged, “I wanted to hit something that would break.”

“That’s fair, though I don’t know why you’ve got your angst face on.”

He turned an incredulous look on the archer.

“What? She wrote back, she’s _coming here_ , isn’t that what you want?”

“…yes.”

“Wow, _that_ was clear. You wanna try that again, maybe with a little more enthusiasm?”

“What do you _want_ , Clint?”

The other man turned serious, “I want what we all want, for you to be okay.” He grimaced, “Okay, that’s probably not what Steve wants. Steve probably wants you to have, like, eight kids with the spouse you’re madly in love with, two dogs, and a house in the suburbs, you know, the Cleaver life. Or maybe that was Seventh Heaven? I can never remember.”

Bucky sighed, “You _know_ I didn’t understand that reference.”

“I also _know_ you got the gist.”

“Steve was the one who wanted eight kids,” he muttered.

“And you wanted, what, four?”

“Yeah,” Bucky said softly, “before.”

“Jesus,” Clint muttered, “ _before_ , huh? What do you want _now?_ ”

 _I want her in my life, telling me I have hobo hair and fussing at me about stupid things like interviews and how much sleep I’m getting._ “I want her to be happy,” he said, “I want to know I didn’t fuck up her life.”

“Sometimes it’s hard to believe you and Nat aren’t related.” Clint shook himself, “Alright, I can’t handle any more of this maudlin Russian-style pessimism without the aid of vodka. You wanna go raid Tony’s stash and talk logistics?”

Bucky shrugged, “Sure, I already broke all the bags.”

“…you can explain that to Nat. _And_ Stark. I already hit my monthly quota for broken shit.”

…

The rest of the week seemed to go by incredibly slowly. Bucky was torn between hoping for some sort of disaster or mission to help pass the time, and fear that there _would_ be some sort of urgent disaster or mission that might take him out of the city for the duration of her visit. He had no idea, after all, of how long she intended to stay.

He passed the time breaking things (Tony had taken one look at him and left the gym, muttering – two hours later there was a delivery of heavy-duty punching bags, strong but not _soldier_ strong, and therefore breakable) and rereading the letters. He tried to imagine what she sounded like, how she would say the things she wrote. Her personality was vivid in each word, each heavy stroke of the pen, but he had no idea how she _sounded_.

Bucky tried to remember how they met - _Okay, when we met, I was young, and you hurt me very badly._ \- but it was like banging his head against a brick wall. Trying to force his memories was like trying to hold a fistful of water: futile and frustrating. He could only wait, and hope.

Seventy years and one meeting later and there he was, still waiting for his soulmate.

Life was funny.

…

On Sunday, the Avengers (and attaches) gathered in the common area. It wasn’t an official meeting, at least, Bucky hadn’t gotten a memo (ie: Steve hadn’t stuck a note to his door), but everybody was there. Thor was wrapped around Jane, who was wrapped around a tablet. Tony and Bruce were bickering over another tablet, Pepper curled up on the couch beside them and watching them fondly. Clint was sprawling across one of the recliners, throwing Skittles to Natasha, who had claimed the other, while Sam (back from Washington, permanently, this time) had an ottoman between them and was attempting to snatch the colorful candy out of the air as it went by. Steve was in what appeared to be a very serious discussion with the other James, “Rhodey,” and Bucky was starting to smell a set-up.

“Did I miss something?”

“Seventy years plus of popular culture,” Tony muttered without looking up.

Pepper poked him, “Be nice.”

“What? That _was_ nice! Nice-ish. Nice _for me_.”

“Tony’s suggestion was stupid,” Bruce said, ignoring the other man’s indignant ‘Hey!’ “But, although they’re not really good life models, we all thought that we could get together a movie night themed around soulmates anyways. Everybody brought their favorites.”

Bucky was…dubious, to say the least. “Really?”

“Not all soulmate films are romantic drivel,” Natasha said, “there are actually some decent films in this mix.”

“Mine is romantic drivel,” Tony said cheerfully, “ _Sixteen Candles_ is a classic!”

“Mine is _Eternal Sunshine of the…_ ” Jane paused, biting her lip. “Um, nevermind.”

Clint snorted so hard that he tipped the bag of Skittles over. Quick as a flash, Sam had snatched them up and returned to his seat. “Success!” he crowed, making victory arms.

“Doesn’t count,” the archer griped, “I was distracted.”

“It counts,” Natasha said, smirking.

Bucky looked over at the other couch, frowning. “Steve?”

“I think it’ll be fun,” he said, smiling. “I brought _It Happened One Night._ ”

That had been Mrs. Rogers’ favorite film. Bucky dropped down onto the couch next to Steve. “Alright, who’s got the popcorn and what’re we watching first?”

…

On Monday, Bucky broke eight punching bags, two dumbbells, and a mirror.

On Tuesday, Bucky ran fifteen miles on the treadmill and wore it out.

On Wednesday, JARVIS interrupted him just as he was about to head from the kitchen to the gym. He’d been delayed by Tony, who had apparently had several new pieces of equipment rushed to them. He’d feel bad about it, but apparently Bruce and Tony had been having fun designing bigger, better equipment since it was easier to stress test the machinery ‘when the person doing the testing is actually stressed.’

“Sir,” JARVIS said, “there is a message for you that I believe you should read.”

Bucky went very, very still. “What is it?”

There was a faint click, and then a projection appeared on the wall in front of him: _Dear Soulmate, I’ll be in the Met, in front of “The wave” at 4:30PM. See you there?_

“Who’s it from?” he asked, throat dry.

“The message was sent from a ‘dlewis’ at Stonemail. Shall I take down a reply?”

“I think I’ll answer in person.”

“Very good, sir.”

“JARVIS?”

“Yes, sir?”

“Could you tell…everyone?”

“I have already done so, sir.”

“Oh,” Bucky sat down at the table, almost missing the chair, “thanks.”

His soulmate. He was going to meet _his soulmate._

When Steve got to the kitchen, he found Bucky looking as wild around the eyes as he’d been during their confrontation on the helicarrier. “Buck?” he called, moving toward the other man slowly but surely, “Buck? You alright?”

Bucky grabbed Steve’s wrist in a vise-like grip as soon as he was in range. “Steve,” he said. “ _Steve._ ”

He wrapped his free arm around the other man’s shoulders. “I know, Buck.”

Natasha entered the kitchen and rolled her eyes at the sight of the two of them. “Now is not the time for your _feelings_ , boys. Now is the time for _action._ We only have a few hours to get ready.”

“Natasha,” Bucky said warningly, “I told you I didn’t want surveillance.”

“Oh,” she said, smiling dangerously, “I didn’t mean _that_ , I meant _you._ ” She crossed the floor to him, taking hold of some of his hair and rubbing it between her fingers, considering him with a calculating air that made both of the men very, very uncomfortable. “Tell me, James, what were you planning on _wearing_ when you meet your soulmate?”

Bucky’s brain stalled. “Um…”

“That’s what I thought. Luckily, Sam and I prepared. Come along,” she ordered, turning and stalking out.

“I’d go with the woman,” Steve muttered. “Y’can’t exactly wear your suit.”

“Some help _you_ are.”

“Hey, I may be an artist, but nobody ever accused me of having any fashion sense.”

…

It was funny how time worked. The past week had been a snail’s crawl, Wednesday was a blur.

Before he knew it, Bucky was in the Met, and it was 4:00PM.

The others were following his ‘no surveillance’ rule to the letter, but they were also following _him_. He knew that Steve, Sam, Clint, and Natasha were in the museum, and everyone else was probably waiting outside. They were kind enough to back off, and let him find his own way, but he knew they were keeping an eye out. At one point, being under watch like this would have made his skin itch, but now it was…almost comforting.

He’d ended up in a simple dark gray shirt and slightly lighter-colored jacket, jeans, and his running shoes. Clint had stuck a Yankees ball cap on his head before he left, which had almost earned him a black eye (“She referenced them! It’ll be your first in-joke!”). Tony had provided him with a special glove that mimicked the look of his flesh hand, something he’d been working on with Bruce, apparently.

It was very similar to what he usually wore around the Tower, but when he’d said that to Natasha, she’d merely given him a pitying look. “There are shirts and jeans, and there are _shirts_ and _jeans_. These are the latter. And you’re comfortable, aren’t you?”

He’d nodded.

“Good, you should be comfortable in your clothes if you can’t be comfortable in the situation.”

And now he was here, making his way toward “The wave” and his soulmate.

It was 4:10PM.

It took a few minutes to get there, the Met was _massive_ , and it wasn’t as if he could _run_ and draw attention. As it stood, he was lucky he hadn’t been recognized yet, though the hat helped. Once he reached the gallery he stood outside it, staring at the arching doorway for a solid minute. The arch opened into the middle of the room, and it was a long space, he couldn’t see the whole of it from this angle. He couldn’t see if there was someone in the room, watching for him.

_I don’t want you to be sad. You deserve to be happy._

He took a step into the room.

His eyes didn’t find her immediately, but it was close enough as to make little difference. There was a woman standing by the painting Pepper had shown him on her tablet, the big blue wave crashing down on the little boats. She had her back to him, which afforded him a moment to study her. He saw long curls of dark brown hair spilling down from a dark purple beanie, a slim waist, hips with a curve he wanted to trace with both hands, and he hadn’t even seen her face but he thought she was beautiful.

Then she turned around and her face hit him like a punch to the head.

Big blue eyes, a stubborn chin, full lips, and her figure was somehow even more impressive from the front.

He crossed the room without even thinking about it, stopping just a few feet from her.

“Hi,” she said after a moment, her voice lower and huskier than he’d expected, “I’m Darcy Lewis.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You should know that I almost ended this chapter about 500 words earlier, but then I felt guilty.
> 
> I know it's sort of a cliffhanger, but it's _significantly better_ than it could have been (and almost was).
> 
> *EDIT: HOLY SHIT, GUYS, WITH THIS CHAPTER, THE SOULMATE 'VERSE HAS BROKEN 60,000 WORDS. I HAVE WRITTEN THE EQUIVALENT OF A NOVEL ABOUT SOULMATES IN THE MCU. THIS IS THE LONGEST WRITING PROJECT I'VE EVER UNDERTAKEN AND I AM _SO EXCITED_ RIGHT NOW!!! BUT BED. BED NEEDS TO HAPPEN. GOODNIGHT, AND WISH ME LUCK IN TURNING OFF MY INTERNAL CAPSLOCK.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My SIL says thank you to everyone, she appreciates the well-wishes (she would like the baby born NOW, kthxbai). I will ALSO say thank you to everyone, because you are awesome.
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> __  
> **WARNING: for descriptions of a panic attack/attacks.**  
> 

Darcy sent the text at 11:13AM. She spent the three minutes after that getting as much distance between her and the person she’d borrowed the phone from as she reasonably could (just in case). She spent the three _hours_ after _that_ wandering the museum and having an extended panic attack.

Her hands were trembling, so she hooked her thumbs into her front jean pockets. She was concentrating on her breathing, counting in and out on a five count while simultaneously measuring her steps. Her eyes she kept focused on the middle-distance, flicking over people and art and not really taking anything in. She was sure she would regret the wasted opportunity once she figured out how to patch up the gaping hole in her chest.

That’s what panic attacks felt like for her. She knew people who got dizzy, people who got angry, she’d even had a friend in nursing school who got _sleepy_ when she had panic attacks and then had incredibly awful night terrors (if she was stupid enough to sleep). Darcy always felt as if a big, gaping chasm had opened, right down the middle of her ribcage, and like a black hole it was sucking everything in.

It took her till 2:16PM to, if not _close_ the hole, at least patch it. She knew from experience that it would take time, and _calm_ to return to normal, and that a lack of the latter could easily send her into another panic attack…or was it just an extension of the first one? She didn’t think it actually mattered. She _also_ didn’t think that she could expect herself to achieve anything resembling _calm_ today.

She went out to the steps and swung by a food cart to grab a soda, then parked herself on the steps and just… sat, for a while.

Darcy took a deep breath, and tried to slow her racing thoughts down enough to catch one. Why was she freaking out? No, really, _why_. The worst that could come out of meeting her soulmate, him rejecting her, _had already happened,_ and guess what? She’d _survived._ Admittedly, maybe she should revise her ‘worst-case’ to allow for superheroes and the crap they brought with them, like death. And maybe…death.

Okay, not the best train of thought to board, moving on.

But, seriously, rejection…that was what she’d feared as a kid, and it had _happened_ , only not? He didn’t seem to be rejecting her _now_ , at least, she didn’t _think_ that was what he wanted. She didn’t exactly have a lot to go on: some slight behavioral changes (but not the hair, never the hair) and a decidedly weird interview, that was it. So, really, she didn’t _know_ what he wanted.

What did _she_ want? What was her _best case_ scenario?

She went back into her head and found a mental file labeled ‘trash,’ and within it, a box with all the dreams, hopes, and wishes she’d had, once upon a time. Obviously the political bits didn’t exactly apply anymore, but she’d had other aspirations, even if they’d been vague and blurry. She’d envisioned a life with her soulmate by her side - she’d envisioned having a _family_ , whatever form it might take.

Did any of _that_ still apply?

If he offered her the chance, did she want to try to make a family with _James?_

She didn’t _know_ him, beyond what she’d seen in his interviews. Which, okay, yeah, she’d seen _all_ of his interviews, she’d seen the _archival footage_ , if it was on film…she had seen it. Her fingers drummed against the side of the soda bottle as she took a sip, then let her head fall back so she could stare up at the sky. She didn’t _know_ him, but she thought she had a decent _idea_ of him, and of who he was now. Heck, she was probably one of the only non-superhero and non-Hydra people who had an _idea_ of who he’d been as the Winter Soldier.

Darcy shut her eyes and called up a mental image of James in his first interviews (cold and stiff, maybe a little frightened), James fighting (lethal and strong), James as she’d seen him the first time (dangerous and heartbreaking).

James as he’d been in _the_ interview, the one that had set this off: startled, wide-eyed, then… _smiling._

At her.

For her?

Because of a few paltry messages?

…it was a nice smile. Well, not _nice_ nice, but – yeah.

She thought about what she _didn’t_ want: she didn’t want to be hurt again. Rejected again. Darcy still felt cautious, _extremely_ cautious, and rightfully so. God, but she wanted – she wanted –

She wanted to have some sort of a relationship with her soulmate.

She wanted James Buchanan Barnes to be happy, or at least less miserable.

Ideally, she wanted the realization former to aid the latter.

So, if there was a chance…she had to - _wanted to_ \- try.

…

Darcy settled herself to wait in the room that housed “The wave” at 2:47PM. The time seemed to alternately crawl, then fly. She texted her mother some pleasantries about the cat and her job, then scrolled through her contacts looking for someone to bother. That led to her weeding out some now-defunct contacts and adding a few more numbers to her “NEVER ANSWER THIS” list. The next time she looked at the time, it read 4:01PM.

_Calm, even breaths, Darcy. You can do this._

She stood and made a circuit of the room, trying to actually look at the paintings, but everything was Pollock to her. Eventually she stopped in front of “The wave” and looked at the blue water about to swallow up all the little boats. In hindsight, maybe not her best choice, she hoped it didn’t end up being prophetic, or a metaphor, or…something.

Later, she’d _like_ to say she felt a faint prickling on the back of her neck. She’d _like_ to say that she’d instinctively realized he was there. She’d _like_ to do all those things, but the truth was that she’d stared at the painting so hard that she was starting to think the water was _actually moving_ , and that was probably a bad sign.

She saw him the instant she turned, though, and it sent a shot of adrenaline straight to her heart.

He was standing just inside the archway in the middle of the room, staring at her. He wore gray, which was a relief (not that she’d actually thought he’d show up in uniform, alright, she had _hoped_ he wouldn’t), and which also brought out how blue his eyes were, which, wow. He had on a ball cap, pulled low to make him less recognizable, and it was a _Yankees_ cap. Huh, that was –

He was walking towards her - _oh fuck, oh god_ – then he stopped an arms-length away.

“Hi,” she said after a moment, surprised at how calm she sounded, “I’m Darcy Lewis.”

Slowly, he held out his hand to her, to shake, she assumed. She tentatively placed her hand in his, then tried not to startle too badly when, instead of _shaking_ her hand, he only squeezed it once, gently, before releasing her.

“Bucky,” he said, after he’d let her go, “please call me ‘Bucky.’”

“So, um…oh!” Darcy could _feel_ her face flushing, but it had to be done. “Okay, so, I’m not actually trying to flash you, but I kind of figured you’d like to see…?” She took a small ( _very_ small) step closer to him to sort of shut out external eyes – and cameras – and then hooked a finger in her neckline and tugged down her shirt to reveal her soulmark.

He stared, and she might not know him particularly well, but his was an expression she’d seen before on other faces. It was sheer, unadulterated _want_ and, unless she missed her guess, a touch of possessiveness. She actually felt a little relieved, seeing that look on his face, which she knew was…probably not the appropriate reaction, all things considered. He may have rejected her before, but she didn’t think he planned to do so today.

“Can I see mine? I mean…if it wouldn’t be inappropriate?”

James - _Bucky_ (she agreed with Tina, _so_ not the name she would associate with an assassin, although maybe that was the point) lifted his right arm, folding it so his forearm came between them - so close that it brushed against the back of her hand. She hastily took her finger out of her shirt and let the neckline go back to where it was _supposed_ to be, then laid a hand on his sleeve, lifting her eyebrows in inquiry.

“Can I…?”

He nodded, blue eyes boring into hers.

She looked down and lifted her other hand to loosely clasp around his wrist, holding his arm steady while she tugged his sleeve up. There they were, down the inside of his forearm in her messy script. She traced over the words with her fingertips, not even thinking about what she was doing until she felt muscle flex under her touch as his hand closed into a tight fist.

When she looked up at his face, what she saw made her blush and take two steps (big ones) back.

“I never thought I’d get to see them,” she told him quickly. “My words, I mean.”

“We didn’t…?” he started, uncertain.

She could feel her shoulders hunching at the memory, “You didn’t give me enough time to show you, you just…left.”

Bucky looked pained, “I’m sorry, for however I hurt you, I can’t – I don’t – “

“You don’t remember, yeah, you said on the show, which,” she kind of wanted to punch him in the arm, but that seemed like a bad idea, “that was a _dick move_ , seriously. What on earth were you _thinking?_ ”

He swallowed, and something about the way he was holding himself made her think that he wanted to reach out, but wasn’t sure what her reaction to such a gesture might be. “I was thinkin’ that I had no idea how to find my soulmate, who kept sendin’ me all these little notes. I was hoping that maybe you’d…” he shrugged, looking frustrated, “Hoping you’d make a mistake, do _something_ so I could _find you._ ”

Her stomach flipped in her belly. “Instead I found you.”

“Yeah,” he said, and she was not at all prepared to see _wonder_ in his eyes, “you did.”

She could feel herself flushing, and she covered her face with her hands. “Oh my god, the _notes_. I can’t believe you read all of those,” she muttered, “I seriously didn’t think you were _actually getting them_ , I mean, I said some pretty – “ she cut off as she felt fingers gently wrapping around her wrists, tugging her hands down, away from her face.

“I kept them, all of them,” Bucky said, stepping towards her instead of pulling her to him.

“Oh,” Darcy said in a small voice.

The corners of his lips twitched up, but it was nothing on how his eyes crinkled and lit up when he smiled. He was… _handsome_ was the word, _charming_ even. He didn’t look miserable, and it was a good look for him.

“Um,” her eyes flicked down to his hands on her wrists, and then back up, “do you mind…?”

He jerked back as if stung, mouth set into a thin line of self-recrimination.

“Oh no,” Darcy immediately reached out, hand wrapping around his left arm, the metal one, she realized, fingers reflexively clenching and feeling the inflexibility of the metal. “Please don’t. Whatever you’re thinking, just… _don’t_.”

“You’ve got no idea what I’m thinking,” he said forcefully, but he didn’t shake her off or try to step away.

“Probably something stupid, like that I’m scared of you.”

“You’re not?”

“No,” Darcy shook her head, “at least, not the way I _think_ you think I’m scared.” She winced, “If that makes sense.”

He didn’t move, but he seemed to – to _loosen_ , for lack of a better word. “How do I…scare you, then?” he asked as if he didn’t want to hear the answer, but needed it anyway.

“I don’t think you’d hurt me,” she told him, not directly satisfying his question. “When we first met, you had _just_ finished an…’assignment.’ There was _literally_ a gun in your hands and I had basically _caught_ you doing it. You didn’t lay a finger on me, you just walked away.” She couldn’t look him in the face anymore, so she looked down at her hand on his arm. “ _That’s_ what I’m scared of, mostly. Having to watch you walk away again.” Darcy laughed, ignoring the way her vision had gone bright and shiny with unspent tears, “Stupid, right? I don’t even really _know you_ , beyond that you’re my soulmate – “

“Your first letter told me I’d found you and already lost you and I – “ Bucky swallowed, “It’s not stupid.”

Darcy rubbed the heel of her free hand into her eyes to dash away the tears. “I hate crying,” she muttered. “This,” she gestured between them, “terrifies me. I gave up on the idea of ever really knowing my soulmate _years_ ago, and, I mean, I don’t really know what _you_ want – “

“You. I want _you._ ”

“Um,” she squeaked, wide-eyed, “that’s…flattering? But you don’t even _know_ \- “

“Know you?” he finished, staring into her eyes intently. He leaned in a little so he towered over her, so close that the bill of his cap was shading her face, his firm grip on her arm keeping her from leaning back. “I know that you’re funny, and smart, and opinionated. I know that you hate Fox news and my hair. I know that you’re brave, and kind, and,” he reached up and pushed a little hair behind her ear, then left his hand to cup the side of her face. “ _God_ , so beautiful, you look like a dream. Like what _I_ dreamed, before the war. I may not know what your family is like, or what you do for a livin’. I may not know your favorite color, or song, but I _want_ to. I want to know _everything_.”

“Everything?” Darcy licked her lips, “That, ah, that could take a long time.”

“Could take the rest of our lives, doll.”

“Was that a _proposal?_ ” she asked incredulously.

“Not of marriage,” he said, but he was smiling again (she felt her heart flutter in her chest). “Not yet, at least.”

“Then what _are_ you proposing?”

“Darcy, you’re my soulmate,” Bucky said seriously. “If you’ll let me, I’d like to court you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THERE WERE LIKE EIGHT DIFFERENT VERSIONS OF THIS IN MY HEAD AND THEN THIS. JUST. THIS.
> 
> WHAT THE FUCK, YOU TWO, _WHY WON'T YOU FOLLOW THE PLAN?!_


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HOLY OVERWHELMING RESPONSE, BATMAN.
> 
> So, you will probably laugh, or (apparently) be REALLY surprised, but I was almost CERTAIN that last chapter was a dud. I agonized over that sucker for HOURS, which is why it posted at 3:00AM, and then I had a freaking NIGHTMARE about it, and how much it sucked (for the record, that's the first time I've had a dream about my writing like that, and also hopefully the last).
> 
> But, to go all Sally Field: You liked it! You really liked it! So, good. Hugs all 'round.
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> **  
> _WARNING: more panic-attack related stuff, but less than the last chapter._  
> **

“You want to _what?_ ” Darcy asked faintly.

“Court you, it’s – “

“I know what courting is!”

Bucky seemed to be enjoying her dazedness. “So can I?” he asked. He slid his hand down and around so it was cupping her shoulder, fingers almost-but-not-quite curling towards the back of her neck. “Can I court you?”

“I know what that word means to _me_ , but what does it – what would it entail, exactly?”

“Long walks, longer talks. You get to know me, I get to know you.”

“Chaperones?” Darcy asked, half-joking.

Bucky went very, very still.

“We’re already _being_ chaperoned, aren’t we?” Darcy realized abruptly. She looked past him, scanning around for any vaguely familiar faces. She didn’t expect to see anyone, since she was a civilian and they were the _Avengers_ , but there was a very tall, very broad man in a brown leather jacket, blue jeans, and a Dodgers cap over by one of the archways, ostensibly looking at the art, but – “That’s Captain America, isn’t it?” Darcy asked flatly.

“He goes by ‘Steve’ when he’s in his civvies.”

“Anyone else around?”

Bucky tilted his head to one side, “If I say ‘yes?’”

“I may hyperventilate,” Darcy told him. “Meeting you is very…yeah. I don’t know if – “

“He’s not – don’t think of him as Captain America, think of him as ‘Steve,’ my best friend.”

She squinted up at him. “I’m not going to try and compartmentalize like that, that’s stupid.” She leaned up a little so she could whisper, “You’re my soulmate, and you’re also Bucky Barnes, war hero, and the Winter Soldier, former assassin and current Avenger.” She went flat-footed again, speaking in her normal voice, “And he’s your best friend, but he’s also Captain America, the leader of the Avengers and…oh. Oh my god, _you’re going to want me to meet all of them, aren’t you?_ ”

“They want to meet you, too.” He smiled, “They already like you.”

Darcy was starting to get a suspicion, a very disconcerting one. “Bucky,” she said, “did you share all of my letters with _the rest of the Avengers?_ ” His expression shuttered under her close scrutiny, but she felt something shifting under her hand on his metal arm and that was as good as a ‘yes’ in her book. “Oh my god,” she breathed, “I – I don’t even remember everything I wrote! _Why_ would you - _fuck!_ ”

“If it helps, they found you just as charming as I do.”

“ _It does not help!_ ” Darcy whisper-shrieked, feeling her chest start to seize as her breaths came shorter and faster. She suddenly found herself being pulled inexorably towards a broad chest, Bucky reeling her in by the hand on her shoulder. He didn’t pull her flush with him, and he didn’t try to take his metal arm out of her now vise-like grip, he only moved her close enough so that he could wrap his flesh arm around her and start to trail his hand up and down, rubbing at her spine between her shoulder blades.

“Breathe with me, Darcy, can you do that? In on a three-count, out on the same, alright?”

After a few minutes, she was able to match her shuddering breaths with his calm ones. She tilted her head to rest her temple against his chest and slid her hand down his metal arm to grip his hand – in a weird plastic-feeling glove – with hers. Her other hand had lifted and was clenching around a fistful of his shirt at his waist.

“You okay?”

“No.”

“Can I do anything?”

“You’re doing it. Just… _stay_ , for a minute.”

“As long as you want.”

 _Stop saying things like that!_ Darcy thought at him. _Stop being perfect!_ “I’m still annoyed at you,” she muttered to his pectoral, which was very firm and warm and _distracting_. “I think you should know that this is all very head-trippy for me. I mean, you’re _here_ and you – you want…yeah.”

“ _Head-trippy?_ ” He flattened his hand against the small of her back, not pulling, just resting it there, and chuckled. “Darcy, I was born in 1917 and here I am meeting my soulmate for the first time in _2015_. I’m ninety-eight, but the scientists say I’m barely bumpin’ up against thirty. I got an arm made of metal and I’m livin’ in the future, in a Tower with an alien god, some super soldiers, a scientist who moonlights as a green giant, and a coupla tin men.”

“…technically we met for the first time in 2000.”

“My point is, they might be the Avengers, things might be _head-trippy_ , but they’re still _people_.”

“Super-powered, _world-saving_ people.”

He huffed out a laugh, “How can they be scarier than me?”

Darcy released her grip on his shirt enough to pinch his side. He flinched, but didn’t react otherwise. “They’re not _scarier_ , and you’re not scary,” she sighed. “It’s not a matter of _scary._ It’s just…been a long day, very emotionally draining. I’m not sure if I’m up to meeting anymore new people and, um,” she muttered something muffled by his shirt.

Bucky tried very hard not to be distracted by the faint feeling of her mouth moving against his skin. “What was that?”

She looked up at him. “I’m just not sure I’m up to making a good first impression on _anybody_ at the moment, let alone people you live with, work with, and are friends with. It’s just…a little much, right now.” He was rubbing his thumb back and forth over the skin of her back and it was _very_ distracting. She _knew_ she was blushing, but: “Stop that,” she muttered, shifting a little.

“Sorry,” he said, his expression clearly communicating that he was not sorry _at all_ , but he stopped. “What d’ya wanna do then?”

Her mind went blank. “Um. I hadn’t really thought very far beyond seeing you?”

Bucky looked uncertain, “Do you want to…go?”

“No! I…could we go somewhere and just…talk?”

“We could go back to the Tower,” he offered cautiously.

“The Tower. Where the superheroes live. _That_ Tower?”

“We all have our own floors. I share with Steve, but it’d be private…?”

“Um, please don’t take this the wrong way, but I’m not sure if I’m ready for _that_ level of privacy.” She twined her fingers with his metal ones and then snorted at his troubled expression, “Relax, that’s not a you-specific caveat. That’s an I-just-met-you thing. I don’t make a habit out of following strange men back to their apartments.” She took a step back, his hand pressing her skin for a moment before dropping away, and gave him a small smile, “Coffee? We could grab coffee?”

“Sure,” he nodded, eyes dropping down to their joined hands and freezing there for a second. “Coffee, that’ll work.”

“Awesome,” Darcy said, then turned and saw a vaguely familiar-looking black man lounging just inside one of the archways. “Uh, Bucky, what are the odds we’ll be able to leave here without running into one or _all of_ your teammates?”

Bucky followed her gaze, looking slightly sheepish when he saw the lounger. “Probably pretty slim.”

“The odds if we leave separate from each other?” she asked hopefully.

“Probably ‘bout the same.”

Darcy facepalmed.

“I could get Steve to make them leave us alone – “

“Awesome!”

“ – after he met you.”

“ _Less_ awesome. Bucky…”

“He’s my _best friend_ , Darcy,” he said, as if that explained everything.

Looking at his face, so animated with earnest hopefulness, she supposed that it did. “Okay,” she sighed, trying to psyche herself up, “lets go meet Captain America, the defender of truth, justice, and the American way.”

“He really does just prefer ‘Steve,’ I promise.”

Darcy made a face at his back as he led her towards big, broad, and blonde in the corner. She shifted herself so that she was slightly behind Bucky, which was sort of stupid because why would she need defending from Captain America? At the same time, she was _really_ not prepared for this. Like, at all.

“Steve?”

Captain America turned around, his face very solemn and looking so much like _every PSA she’d seen in high school_ , that Darcy barely stifled the urge to squeak, drop Bucky’s hand, and sprint for cover.

“This is my soulmate, Darcy Lewis,” he said, sounding so _happy_ that Darcy felt like a heel.

“Um. Hi?” she lifted her other hand and wriggled her fingers in a brief wave.

“Pleasure to meet you, Ms. Lewis,” _Captain America_ said, giving her a small nod.

“Yeah, uh, Bucky?” she was certain the whites must be showing all the way around her eyes when she looked up at him. “Can we go? Now? I really wasn’t kidding and I _really_ don’t want to have a panic attack. Again.”

Captain America’s questioning and concerned, “Panic – “ was quickly cut off by Bucky.

“We’re going to go to the coffee place up on Madison, can you cover us? She’s not ready to meet the team.”

“I – sorry? I’m sure you are all very lovely people, I just – today has been _very_ \- “ Darcy lifted both her hands, which led to her dragging Bucky’s along for the ride (that metal arm was _heavy_ ), to mime an explosion coming from her head. “Tomorrow, maybe? Just…I need a little time to assimilate, and that way you guys can run, like, a background check or whatever and…yeah.”

“That’s fine, Ms. Lewis,” Captain America said, something about the set of his mouth making her think he was amused.

“So you’ll keep them away? I mean, not _away_ away, I just don’t want to have to talk to any – wow, that sounded way less bitchy in my head. Jesus - I mean shit! _Crap!_ ” Darcy saw that Bucky’s frame convulsing with his attempts to stifle laughter and pinched him in the side again with her free hand, “This! This is what I meant! Can we go now?”

“Steve?” Bucky asked, mouth still twitching.

Captain America nodded and that was enough for Darcy, she darted toward the door without the lounging-guy, dragging Bucky after her. “You’re paying for the coffee, asshole,” she growled.

“Sure.”

“ _And_ a pastry.”

“Okay.”

“Maybe two.”

“Whatever you say, doll.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't worry, Darcy will regain her moxie, it's just been a very long day for her.
> 
> A haiku about you:  
>  _YOU GUYS ARE AWESOME._  
>  HAVE I MENTIONED THAT BEFORE?  
> 'CAUSE IT'S TRUE, YOU ARE.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dealing with some crazy shit at the mo (not the baby, although said crazy shit has caused my bro and SIL to start considering the name "Murphy" for their little girl), so updates will be sporadic again (such a good word, used to hilarious effect in _Clueless_ ).
> 
> Also, writing Bucky in this chapter? Only slightly less awkward for me than writing Angel (of BtVS).
> 
> ALSO ALSO: thank you to Nitpicker for the New York info! I have edited, but please point out any future blunders!

Bucky followed after his soulmate - _his soulmate!_ \- in a bit of a daze. In his case, this meant that while he was still instinctively cataloguing everything going on around him, exits, possible threats, and the presence of his fellow Avengers, his conscious thoughts were comprised entirely of short headlines:

_**She was here!** She wasn’t afraid! **She was beautiful!** She was touching him! **She was touching his arm!**_

The hand she was holding as she led him through the museum was, in fact, his cybernetic one. It had been redesigned, upgraded, and was in almost all respects completely different from the one he’d worn under Hydra’s control, but he still had a hard time even _looking_ at it some days, especially as he recovered his memories. The Avengers were largely indifferent to it, but it was a studied indifference: it registered for them, they recognized that its primary function was martial, but they also trusted that he wouldn’t use it on _them_.

Darcy hadn’t even paused, she was treating it like – like an _arm_.

Part of him was bound up in stunned awe at the level of _trust_ that that implied, the rest of him was mourning the fact that she wasn’t holding his flesh hand, and therefore the sensation was limited by the reduced sensory input in his prosthetic. This whole experience – this was surreal. This was so much better than he had expected, even with the letters to give him hope.

Bucky was waiting for the other shoe to drop, but – he squeezed her hand gently, then smiled when she turned, giving him an inquiring look – he was going to enjoy this for as long as it lasted, and relish in the fact that this time he would get to _remember_ her.

“So,” Darcy stopped once they reached the steps outside the museum, “I don’t actually know my way around.”

“Well, my old neighborhood is a borough and seventy years away, so – “

She nudged him with her shoulder, “Smart-ass. Well, I guess that was what GPS was invented for.”

Darcy started to let go of his hand, and he knew – he _knew_ \- that it was probably just so she could grab her phone, but he couldn’t help the small sound of protest he made. _Goddamnit_ , but he was already _so_ gone on this woman.

She looked up at him from underneath her lashes - _He was in BIG trouble._ \- then hooked her elbow around his. “This okay?”

 _Perfect. You’re perfect._ “S’fine, doll.”

“Okay, so, there’s a place close by, on Madison – so we won’t be making a liar out of you. We can walk?”

He set off by way of answer, moving slowly enough so she’d get the picture and walk with him instead of him dragging her along. He didn’t really know what to say, couldn’t think of any conversation opening from his past - _distantly_ past - experience stepping out that might fit the situation: meeting his soulmate for the first (second) time.

“So…” Darcy said, “I kind of know a lot about you? I don’t mean that in a creepy way, but, I mean, I’ve read all the articles…and you know I’ve seen all your interviews, so, yeah. I know what’s open to the public, and there’s a _lot_ if you know where to look, especially in historic record…that’s gotta be weird for you. Is this weird? Wait, nevermind, I had a point!” She gave him a side-eye, biting her lip - _this girl would be the death of him_ \- “I wanted to play twenty questions,” she said abruptly. “Or, well, give you the chance to ask me some stuff, even the playing field, so to speak.”

Well, _that_ was an unexpected windfall, and his soulmate’s embarrassment over wanting to know all about him was _adorable_. “Twenty questions, huh? Anything I wanna know?”

“I reserve the right to not answer if it’s something I wouldn’t want to discuss in public, but, yeah.”

Bucky tried to organize his thoughts. He hadn’t been kidding when he said he wanted to know _everything_. “Favorite color?”

“Oh, starting with the easy questions, alright…hm.” She grinned, looking ahead and steering them a little as they walked. Bucky didn’t mind since it left him free to focus on _her_ , and he’d caught the flash of Natasha’s hair half a block back, so he knew his weren’t the only pair of eyes looking for trouble. “I’d have to say purple. It used to be green, but after living in Colorado for a while…the sunsets there are _gorgeous._ There, that’s one. What’s next?”

He thought for a moment. There were so many basic things he didn’t know, and it itched at him. He knew less about his soulmate than he did some of the people he’d killed, and that was…that was an incredibly disturbing thought.

“Hey,” she nudged him with her elbow, “you okay? You kind of drifted for a second there.”

“Just…” Bucky shrugged, weighing his answer, “Wishing this could be normal. That _I_ could be normal, for you. You deserve it.”

Darcy frowned and appeared to be thinking that over. “What would be normal, for us? I mean, you said it back in the museum: you were born in the early twentieth century and I was born towards the end of it. I don’t think we were ever gonna be anybody’s idea of ‘normal.’”

Her options had been a nonagenarian or an assassin. Bucky grimaced, “I wish that made me feel better.”

“Don’t focus on what could have been, focus on what _is_ ,” she said, and it had the air of a mantra. He couldn’t help but study her face, concerned. Darcy smiled wryly when she noticed, “I spent _years_ thinking that I would never get to meet you, or know you, thinking that my soulmate wanted nothing to do with me. It was worse, in some ways, than not having a soulmate at all because the universe _gave_ me that chance, and then…I don’t know, I messed it up.”

He stopped short, pulling her to one side of the foot traffic. “You did _nothing_ wrong, I _promise_.”

Darcy gave him a level look, “How would you _know_ that? It’s not like you – Oh god,” her eyes went wide with horror, “oh my god, I am _so_ sorry, I didn’t mean it like that!”

Bucky looked down at the ground. “I _wish_ I remembered you, I do…” After a moment, he looked up again and met her worried gaze, trying hard to impress his seriousness upon her, “You met me at my very worst, and you _survived_. That’s not just doing something ‘right,’ it’s a goddamn _miracle_ , Darcy.”

She was staring at him, wide-eyed, and he abruptly realized that he’d grabbed both her hands and pulled her in close. “I – okay, yeah,” she was trying to look everywhere but at him, but every time her eyes came back to his face she seemed to blush a slightly deeper shade of red. “So, I’m a miracle. Great, good, we’re _both_ miracles. Um. Wanna go get coffee now?”

While it was nice – and _incredibly heartening_ \- to know she was not unaffected by him, he also knew she was nervous as hell (he could feel her pulse where his hand brushed her wrist), and that he needed to back off. It was difficult, though. _Very_ difficult.

“Where we headed?” Bucky asked, taking a small step back and offering her his arm again.

She took it more slowly this time, and that would have been discouraging if he hadn’t noticed the way her eyes had gone to his mouth when he spoke. “Wha - ? Oh! Some place called ‘Nectar’ something-or-other? It’s about fifty feet that way,” she pointed down the street where, now that he was looking, he could see a green awning with the word ‘Nectar’ on it.

“So, coffee,” he said as they started walking again, “how do you take it?”

“I _could_ count that as one of your twenty, you know.”

“I know.”

“You don’t want to ask me anything more personal?”

Bucky shrugged, “I’d rather you tell me the big stuff because you _want_ to, not ‘cause of some game.”

She was biting her lip again, he didn’t think she was even conscious of it, but _he_ certainly was. “…two creams, no sugar.”

“Middle name?”

Darcy grimaced, “It’s Elizabeth. My dad is a _really_ big fan of Austen. _Huge_. If I’d been a boy, I would have been ‘Fitzwilliam.’”

“Family?”

“Mom, dad, and me. I have a bunch of aunts and uncles and cousins scattered across the States, too.”

Bucky couldn’t decide if he was glad that he wouldn’t have to worry about disapproving brothers, or sad that she never got the chance to have any siblings. He’d been close with Rebecca, growing up, and then he’d had Steve as well. He couldn’t really imagine being an only child, it sounded…lonely. They’d reached the restaurant while talking and Bucky grabbed the door, grinning when Darcy rolled her eyes at the gesture. “What? You already said I was paying, might as well give you the whole experience.”

“Chivalry is dead,” she stated, smiling so he’d know she was teasing.

“Steve Rogers woke up a few years ago, don’t know if you heard,” he told her, raising his eyebrows.

“I don’t know, the books all said _you_ were the charmer.”

Bucky’s brows went up for a whole new reason: “’The books,’ huh? _All_ of them?”

“I mean, I haven’t read _every_ book,” Darcy stuttered, “I’ve read _some_ , but – “

“You sure about twenty questions? Sounds like I might need thirty to catch up.”

“Just order your food,” she muttered, tugging him along.

Every time she touched him it was a confirmation that he wasn’t dreaming, a benediction for his broken self: he’d done awful things, _horrible_ things, but this – this was the person the universe had matched him with. She was his _best_ match, and she was bright, and lovely, and he would do everything he could to deserve her, to deserve _this:_ his second chance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys, seriously, he kept trying to go angstier and angstier and _No, I don't get happy endings_ and I was all WHAT ABOUT DARCY, WHAT DOES SHE DESERVE? and now I'm realizing that getting these two to anywhere near a healthy, balanced relationship may require me to do research into psych. UGH.
> 
> I spent about three hours researching 'muteness' and 'causes of' in order to write a BELIEVABLE mute!Darcy.
> 
> Along those lines, should I add a chapter to the FIRST story in this series that is SOLELY DEVOTED to my headcanons for this universe? Because a lot of you have been asking me REALLY GOOD questions (and I've been thinking about them) and I actually have answers for a lot of them.
> 
> *EDIT: OKAY, SO, I MUCKED A THING UP. I edited this so Darcy NOW says she lived in COLORADO and not NEW MEXICO because no, she WAS NOT Jane's intern in this timeline. She went to an entirely different university, and had an entirely different major - as a nursing major, she would NOT have needed those science credits, guys. So, yes, THIS IS WHAT HAPPENS WHEN YOU HAVE, LIKE, FIFTY DIFFERENT HEADCANONS FOR DARCY'S BACKGROUND. Sorry, and THANK YOU katdemon1895! You and your Inuyasha icon SAVED THE DAY.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THESE TWO. JFC _THESE TWO_ , YOU GUYS. THEY ARE SO GODDAMN DRAMATIC.

She really needed him to stop looking at her like she was the second coming. She also probably needed to stop manhandling the world-renowned assassin, even though he didn’t really seem to mind. Darcy was tactile by nature, but tended to respect peoples’ bubbles by training: being a nurse was generally pretty hands-on, but there were clear boundaries and lines of respect in the patient-healer relationship. Maybe that was the problem. She wasn’t really sure where the boundaries were between them.

Darcy looked down at her hand, wrapped loosely around Bucky’s forearm, then up to his face. He was standing behind her in the line, gamely following where she led while scanning the small shop (she supposed that you could take the sniper away from his scope, but good luck trying to keep him from _scoping_ out his surroundings). She kind of _liked_ touching him like this, she liked that he _let_ her, especially because it was so familiar…and kind of bordering on the proprietary. Again, he didn’t _seem_ to mind, but considering how fraught their communication had been up till now, it was probably best if she checked.

“I know I was letting you ask all the questions, but, ah, is this okay?”

“What?” he asked, focus snapping back to her so quickly and completely that Darcy almost imagined she heard a _click_.

Darcy squeezed his arm, then, when he continued to look blank, winced and explained, “The touching?”

He glanced down at her hand, then back up to her face with a raised brow that spoke _volumes_. “Darcy,” he said slowly, lips twitching with the beginnings of what was probably a _pretty spectacular_ smile, “you feel free to touch me as much as you’d like, _wherever_ you’d like, and I promise to tell you if you’re touchin’ me _too much._ ”

“So, this is okay?”

Bucky twisted the arm she was holding so her hand met his instead, twining their fingers. “This is _marvelous_ , doll.”

She could feel herself flushing. “That’s what you called me when we first met, you know. I mean, obviously you know, you’ve seen my soulmark, but yeah. ‘Doll.’ Well, ‘doll’ in Russian.”

“I know,” he inclined his head, but she noticed his eyes had shuttered. “There’s a lot I still don’t remember,” he said haltingly, “but even with what I _do_ , it’s hard to separate out the…training from the actions and figure out how…present I was for some of those assignments.”

She edged closer to him, leaning in against his side and ignoring the people in line behind them, who were starting to scowl at them for not moving.

“I don’t remember, but I musta been at least a little _there_ when we met. Otherwise…” he swallowed hard, and his hand in hers clenched to just this side of too tight. “Otherwise you wouldn’t be here,” he said softly, eyes filled with the horror of what could have been.

“But I _am_ he – “

“Are you two prepared to order?” a barista called, chirpy tone at odds with her strained smile.

Darcy gave Bucky a lopsided smile and tugged him after her towards the counter.

…

Sam sauntered up to Steve with an amused look on his face: “Was it just me, or does Bucky’s girl do a fantastic Road Runner impression?”

Steve shrugged, still looking towards where the duo had headed out of the museum.

“I mean she took off like a bat outta – “

“Yeah, Sam, I got it. I don’t recognize the reference, but context works just fine.”

Sam grinned, “Just checking, Cap.” He cocked his head to one side, still looking at Steve but speaking into his comms device, “You got anything yet, Stark?”

“Other than a reel of footage of their awkwardly adorable reunion? Of course! She’s twenty-six, a Capricorn, nursing degree from University of Wisconsin, has bounced around various specialties at Northwestern, good number of commendations from superiors, one complaint filed, but…yeah, just what I thought, he’s a total jackass, stack of sexual harassment complaints that’d make _me_ blush. No obvious connections to Hydra, AIM, or any of our other favorite wack-jobs – “

“Any less than obvious connections?” Natasha asked over the line.

“Uhhhhh…one cousin who looks like a PETA nut, but everybody’s got that one cousin. I mean, none of _us_ , but people. _Normal_ people get to have one crazy relative, right? Or have the sitcoms been lying to me all these years?”

“What did you make of her, Steve?” Thor broke in.

Steve shrugged, “She seemed pretty nervous – “

“Can you blame her?” Sam asked.

“Wasn’t too keen to meet all of us – “

“Uh,” Jane spoke up, “speaking as an Avengers-adjacent soulmate, you guys can be…a bit much.”

“I am a _gracious plenty_ , thank you _very_ much,” Tony said. “Alright, I can follow them on the traffic cams, or – “

“I’ll follow,” Natasha said. “Bucky seems very…distracted by her.”

“Can you blame _him?_ ” Clint snorted. “Show of hands, who thinks Bucky’s soulmate looks like a pin-up girl?”

Steve sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, “Give ‘em some privacy, Tony. Nat…keep us posted, but only what we need to know.”

“Roger, Rogers.”

“…oh, we are _absolutely_ putting ‘Airplane’ on the next movie night list,” Tony muttered.

…

They’d ordered, then found a small table in a corner where Bucky could keep his back to the wall and an eye on all the entrances to the shop. Not that he _said_ that that was what he was doing, but Darcy wasn’t an idiot, plus she’d had some similar experiences with a cousin who was a vet. He was a little subtler about it, though, steering her into her seat with a small smile and chivalrously pulling her chair out for her before he settled himself opposite.

“So,” she said, stirring the whipped cream into her latte for lack of anything more constructive to do with her hands, “by my count you’ve got somewhere around eighteen questions to go.”

“Thought you’d upped it, on account of all the books you’ve read?”

Darcy concentrated on her drink, refusing to meet his eyes. It was all sorts of embarrassing that she’d let that little tidbit slip. Having read so much about him, having _watched_ so many of his interviews, while he knew nothing about _her_ made her feel like some sort of creepy stalker, especially now that she’d met him.

“Hey,” Bucky said, slowly reaching across the table so he could tilt her chin up in order to look her in the eyes. “I’m just teasin’ you.”

She huffed, “Sorry. It’s just…you don’t think it’s a little…weird?”

“Darcy, I spent seventy-some years as the personal goon of a group of wanna-Nazis. I think I got weird covered.”

“Fair enough. So, ah, questions?”

He tilted his head to one side, studying her. “Do you like to dance?”

“It’s a nice stress relief, sometimes. I don’t know any _dance_ -dances, though. More bump and grind than swing?”

“’Bump and grind?’” Bucky asked, grinning.

She stifled the urge to chuck her napkin at his stupidly charming face. “Look it up, Bucky.”

“Don’t think I won’t,” he retorted. “Alright,” he paused and looked down at his drink, a cup of black coffee that he had been slowly rotating between his hands, “How long were you planning on staying in New York?”

Darcy froze. “Well, I took a week off, but it, um, took me a couple of days to woman up? My flight home leaves on Sunday.”

“Sunday,” he echoed, and his expression didn’t _change_ exactly, but something in his eyes and the set of his shoulders told her that he was pulling in, retreating from her somehow. “That’s…not a lot of time,” Bucky said quietly, more to himself than to her.

She reached out and grabbed his hand; a quick squeeze telling her it was his flesh one, not the metal one. “We’ve got a few days here, and then you could…visit me? Chicago’s pretty nice, lots of good hotels, or… well, if you wanted, you could always stay with me? Maybe?” She stretched out her other hand so that both of hers were wrapped around one of his. “Hey,” Darcy said, trying to give him her most serious face, “this was always going to be a logistics struggle. We’ve got a lot of…stuff that’s unique to us, but we’ve still got to deal with all the normal crap that everyday soulmates have to figure out. I live in Chicago, you live in New York, but, I mean, we’ve already established that we wanna do this, or _try_ at least, so…we’ll figure something out, right?”

Bucky was doing that thing again, where he looked at her like she was everything good in the world personified.

“Right.” She coughed, “So, um, we’ll figure it out. Questions?”

“Will you get dinner with me tonight?” he blurted out, and then winced. “Sorry, I don’t mean to push you, I just…” _Want to spend as much time with you as I can before you leave._

Darcy smiled, “Don’t be sorry. And yes, dinner would be nice. I haven’t really been out and about exploring the city yet, but I know I’ve gotta try New York pizza before I head home to deep-dish central.”

He grinned, “Pizza sounds perfect. I know you said you were nervous meetin’ my friends – “

“Friends, housemates, teammates and _fellow superheroes?_ Whatever gave you _that_ idea?” she muttered under her breath.

“ – but I thought it might be… _easier_ for you if you met a couple tonight, instead of havin’ them all sprung on you at once.”

Darcy could see the wisdom in that, even if the idea had her heart tapping out a merry beat. “Yeah, that’s smart. Who did you have in mind?”

“Steve and Nat, maybe Sam.”

“Captain America, the Black Widow, and the Falcon?”

Bucky grinned lopsidedly, “You’re gonna be meetin’ the people, not the suits.”

“The only ‘suit’ I’m worried about is Stark’s…seriously, I know he’s your best bud, but he’s _Captain America._ ”

“You’re pretty hung up on the title,” he observed, clearly amused, “but you’re fine calling me by _my_ name.”

Darcy rolled her eyes, “I could call you ‘soldier,’ if you wanted.” She affected a husky voice and batted her eyelashes at him, “You gonna buy me a drink tonight, soldier?”

Bucky’s eyes dilated so quickly that it made her gasp. His hand tightened on hers, grip suddenly turned to iron and they sat there, eyes locked for who knew how long, tension abruptly springing up between them like corn in July.

“So,” she cleared her throat, her voice having gone husky for _entirely different reasons_. “That’s a thing. I’ll, ah, keep that in mind.”

“Damnit, кукла,” he said, then trailed off into muttered Russian that sounded both violent and, potentially, pornographic.

_Did not know that was a kink of mine,_ she thought to herself, fighting the urge to squirm in her seat. “Pizza, tonight. Meeting your… _friends_. This sounds like a good plan. We can go around eight? Gives me some time to get ready.” _And have another freak out, and then talk myself down._

He nodded, expression still about seven shades too _stimulating_ for public consumption.

“Walk me to the curb?”

Bucky stood instead of saying anything, and she made a point of _not_ looking at eye-level because _she was not ready_ to know _anything_ about what her soldier was packing. He drew her up out of her seat by the grip he still had on her hand and just stood there for a moment, staring at her face.

Darcy returned the favor, taking in his intense blue eyes, still-lengthy hair and everything about his face that was different now from that encounter all those years ago. “I’m glad you called me out, on the news, I mean,” she revealed. “I don’t know when or if I’d have gotten up the gumption to contact you, otherwise.”

He reached out his free hand and ran his thumb along the apple of her cheek. “If you’d kept sending those little notes, I woulda found you eventually, doll. I woulda found a way.”

“Instead, I found you,” she told him, smiling.

“Yeah,” he said, and seriously, all these looks he was giving her were gonna go to her head! “Yeah, you did.”

They were still hand-in-hand when they reached the sidewalk. “Not really sure how to hail a cab,” she confessed. “I mean, in the movies people just whistle, or raise an arm and yell, or…”

“Darcy.”

She jolted, looking up at him, “Yeah?”

He looked unsure again, and a little nervous, not something she liked seeing on his face. “Can I – “ he grimaced, “I mean, can _we_ …”

“Yeah…?”

Very slowly, obviously giving her time to pull away, he tugged her forward until he could wrap his arms around her: one pressed to her waist, the other up between her shoulder blades under her hair. She returned the hug with pleasure, pressing in and squeezing tight, debating momentarily in her head before going for broke and nestling her head in the space between his shoulder and chin.

It had been comforting when she was having a panic attack, now, though…it just felt overwhelmingly _right_ to be in his arms like this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am yay close to trolling old Bogie and Bacall films to find quotes Darcy could throw at Bucky to get him revved up (NOT THAT IT TAKES MUCH, COMING FROM HER).


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all should thank Rainne for cheerleading this chapter even when I got stuck (SO STUCK).
> 
> THANK YOU, RAINNE!

The very first thing Darcy did when she got back to her hotel room was bemoan the fact that it was _not_ one of those swanky joints with a hellaciously expensive minibar. Darcy could have done with a drink to steady her nerves. One drink, or maybe one bottle – on second thought maybe it was a good thing she'd been kind of cheap when shelling out for accommodations.

She threw herself facedown on the bed ( _after_ pulling back the coverlet, of course, she wasn’t a complete hotel newbie) and groaned into the sheets. A minute later, once the threat of suffocation started to become something more like a _promise_ , she awkwardly flopped herself over to stare at the textured ceiling.

Her brain seemed to be set to the ‘Bucky’ channel, because he was all she could think about.

Bucky was attractive. _Very_ attractive. Also, not nearly as intimidating as she’d feared, or, at least, not intimidating in the same _ways_ that she’d feared. She’d been so caught up dreading a rejection and then worrying over the idea of building an actual _relationship_ with him that she’d skipped over any real considerations of what that relationship could be.

Or might _entail_.

“We are _definitely_ not platonic soulmates,” she muttered to herself. “ _Definitely_ not.”

That moment in the coffee shop, that moment when she’d called him ‘soldier’ and he’d just _looked_ at her and then the unexpected Russian-speak and…she had not prepared for that. She _was not_ prepared for that. Darcy hadn’t allowed herself to think about her soulmate in a sexual capacity since she was sixteen years old, when she’d finally realized that fantasizing about your assassin soulmate sneaking in your bedroom window in the dead of night and making tender, sweet love to you (or, alternatively and depending on her level of soulmate-related angst, hatefucking her through the mattress) probably wasn’t the healthiest of hormone-fueled masturbatory material. _Especially_ considering he’d rejected her and was, well, an assassin.

It probably said something interesting about her psychological make-up that the first part was what bugged her the most.

Safe to say she was thinking about him in a sexual capacity _now_ , though. Cripes. That was just… she groaned again, then once more just because she could, and rolled onto her side, curling up in a ball. Sex…with Bucky, her soulmate, who was very tortured and tormented and all those other t-words that were so ridiculously over-abundant in cheesy eighties romance novels. Bucky wasn’t a one-dimensional character, though, he was an honest-to-god _persion_ with a history, a past, and friends (she was _not thinking_ about his friends), and hopes and dreams and – 

She was starting to think (Wonder? Fear? Hope?) that those dreams might include _her_.

…

Bucky watched the cab drive away with Darcy and told himself very firmly that following her to make sure she got back to her hotel safely was not only unnecessary, but would also probably cross at least six lines of propriety. He knew that it was highly likely Stark was tracking them, now _her_ , through the traffic cameras, and would contact him should anything untoward happen, but that wasn’t at all the same as ensuring her safety _himself_. He just wanted to be sure she was safe, he’d only just found her…but he knew he shouldn’t crowd her.

He was tempted, though. Very tempted.

The soft, very deliberate, brush of an arm against his alerted him to Natasha’s presence at his side. “We’ve come a long way, haven’t we,” she murmured to him, eyes focused on the middle distance.

Bucky knew she was talking about more than just him and Darcy, that she meant her soulmates as well, and their team. She meant trust and soft emotions, letting your guard down and knowing the ones around you wouldn’t see it as a weakness to be exploited. He let out a breath slowly before confessing, “Even with the letters, after all that, I never thought I’d actually be here. It doesn’t seem possible, and I _still_ don’t think I de – “ He nearly bit his own tongue snapping his teeth together over the end of his sentence.

“You do not think you deserve this, James,” Nat said. It wasn’t a question, it wasn’t said with pity, and the sadness in her eyes was as much for her as it was for him. “We may not deserve them,” she said after a moment, “we may _never_ deserve them, but if they _want_ us, do we not owe them the very best of ourselves?”

James wasn’t sure he agreed, but he didn’t exactly _disagree_ , so he shrugged and set off back towards the museum.

Natasha elbowed him, gesturing towards his ear with a pointed look.

Sighing, he reached up and pressed the small switch and –

“…saying, we could make a small wager,” Tony was saying.

“ _Tony_ ,” Steve said warningly.

“What’s the bet?” Clint asked.

“If the next words outta your mouth aren’t _respectful_ , we’re gonna have _words_ , Stark,” Bucky growled.

There was a brief silence, and then – 

“Fifty bucks says they’re cohabitating within a month,” Tony said.

“Here, or in Chicago?” Sam asked curiously.

“ _Sam!_ ” Steve said, sounding betrayed.

Clint ‘hmmed’ thoughtfully, “Cohabitating as in sharing bills, or cohabitating as in sleeping under the same roof?”

“Same roof, at least two consecutive nights,” Tony said.

“I think,” Natasha said, cool voice contrasting with the small smirk playing about the corners of her mouth, “that if you would like to remain unmarred, you would be well-advised to change the subject. I recognize the look on James’s face, and it spells pain. On the other hand,” she continued meditatively, “it will be entertaining to watch him take you apart. Carry on.”

“…I’m good,” Clint said.

Tony grumbled for a moment. “ _Fine._ Spoilsport.”

“So,” Jane broke in, “how did it go?”

Bucky wasn’t quite sure what to say, how to describe his time with Darcy, his _soulmate_.

“If he were any more twitterpated, small woodland creatures would be frolicking about his feet and singing to him,” Natasha said dryly. “They… _hugged_ when they parted. It was so sweet, I feared I might lose a tooth.”

“ _Nat,_ ” Bucky groaned, but he couldn’t exactly object to what was, essentially, the _truth_. He sighed, ignoring the smirk Nat was sending his way. “She’s amazing,” he said after a moment, “she’s – she’s funny and sweet, gets embarrassed about the most ridiculous things and she’s…not afraid of my arm.”

There was a pause, and then Tony let out an exasperated scoff, “Aw, hell, Bucky, way to take the fun out of it.”

“That’s fantastic, Bucky,” Jane said softly, “we can’t wait to meet her.”

“Indeed,” Thor spoke up, “I look forward to our meeting with great anticipation.”

“Well,” Bucky grimaced, shooting Nat a sidelong look, “she’s kind of…intimidated by everyone. I don’t think it would be a good idea to spring everybody on her all at once.”

“Good idea,” Jane said staunchly.

“ _Seriously?_ ” Tony groaned. “Oh, come on! We’ve read her letters, and _technically speaking_ she knows _of_ all of us! What’s the big deal?”

“Tony,” Steve said, “Bucky’s soulmate, Bucky’s rules.”

He tried very hard not to smile like a loon at Steve calling her _Bucky’s soulmate_ , but – judging by Nat’s exaggerated eye roll – he didn’t succeed. “I talked her into meeting a few people tonight, we’re gonna go out for pizza.”

“I approve,” Tony said.

“Thanks,” Bucky said dryly.

“So…who made the cut?”

“Steve, Sam, and Nat.”

Tony groaned long and loud, Clint laughed, and Jane and Thor both made soft agreeing noises.

“You sure you want _me_ there?” Sam asked.

“Don’t take this the wrong way, but…you’re probably the one she’ll be least intimidated by.”

Sam chuckled, “I _am_ the normal one.”

“And the sane one,” Clint put in, “ _usually._ ”

“Alright,” Steve said, and he was using his ‘commander’ voice – though whether it was on purpose or not was anyone’s guess, “pizza with Darcy, tonight at…?”

“We agreed to meet at the joint at seven.”

“Where?”

“Uhhhhh….Stark?”

“Oh, _now_ he wants my input,” Tony muttered. “I know a good place, Pepper loves it, I’ll have Happy take you.”

“Thanks, Tony,” Bucky said, genuinely touched that he would send Happy to drive them.

“Chauffer _and_ spy, Tony?” Nat asked pointedly.

_Slightly less touched now_ , Bucky thought wryly.

“You doubt my intentions, _moi?_ I am hurt! I am wounded! I am – “

“In love with the sound of your own voice?” Steve muttered, almost too softly to be picked up by the mic.

There was a brief moment of silence, and then _everyone_ was laughing.

“Ha. Ha. Ha,” Tony said, tone making it clear he was just as amused as the rest of them.

“So, how’re you going to get in touch?” Sam asked.

“She gave me her phone number,” Bucky said softly.

“Oh my _god_ ,” Tony said, “that’s it, I’m out. Too much sweetness for me.”

“I am expecting the woodland creatures any minute now,” Natasha sighed.

Bucky ducked his head and thanked god he didn’t blush anymore.

…

Darcy stared at her suitcase, faced with a question she’d never thought she’d have to answer: _What the fuck do you wear to a dinnerdate with SUPERHEROES?_ It wasn’t as if she’d brought a whole lot of clothing, or even a really great variety. For the most part she was stuck between two shirts: a black cowl neck sweater that made her boobs look great, but also showed off her soulmark like _whoa_ \- she usually paired it with copious amounts of concealer. _Or_ , a red sweater dress that would keep the girls completely covered…while also highlighting the rest of her curves.

As Tina had once told her, it made her look ‘bodacious.’

Darcy looked from one to the other and scowled before grabbing the red dress. Considering how Bucky had looked when he first saw her soulmark, she didn’t think it would be too wise to flash it for all and sundry to see while she was _supposed_ to be eating a nice, friendly meal with him and his friends.

_Save it for the third date,_ her id purred.

She groaned and looked heavenward. It seemed that, having finally unpacked her libido, it was going to be _staying_ up front and center in her thoughts for the foreseeable future. Fantastic. Not as if the rest of her brain had any lingering concerns about jumping headfirst into a serious relationship with an ex-assassin who had _rejected her_ once, oh no. Her libido, however, did not appear to want to acquaint itself with reason.

For a (very brief) moment, she toyed with the idea of calling the date off, arranging for them to meet for a much more casual lunch instead, but then she thought of Bucky’s face, looking at her like she was everything good in the world, and how he wouldn’t be _sad_ if she cancelled, no, he would _understand_. She shuddered at the thought: she knew that she wouldn’t disappoint him, but…god, she thought she’d give just about anything to make sure that dead look he’d had just after he’d been recovered never crept back into his eyes.

She glanced over at the clock and winced: it was six. She had maybe a half hour to get dressed, do her make-up, and ponder the idea of doing something with her hair. That left her a half hour to freak out, calm herself, and get to the restaurant. Just the thought was already setting her heart pounding and making her breathing pick up. Darcy took a deep breath and tried not to focus on _meeting Captain America and the Black Widow and the Falcon_ , instead, she tried to focus on seeing Bucky again, maybe sitting beside him, leaning against him – 

Yeah, that didn’t help her with the pounding-heart thing _at all._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter: the date!


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is BARELY edited, and I haven't fixed the 7 o'clock/8 o'clock time discrepancy some of you noticed, but HERE: have nearly 9,000 words of awkward date shenanigans.
> 
> And then get down on your knees and pray thanks to Rainne, the cheerleader, champion, and queen of this fic.
> 
> General notice: I'm going to start using my tumblr to post some of the stuff I usually stick in ANs. If you wanna follow, follow, but please read my general I AM A CRAZY PERSON AND THIS IS WHAT YOU ARE IN FOR notice (posted recently). I go by the same handle THERE as I do HERE.

At five till eight, Darcy was standing outside of Placido’s Pizzeria hoping that the place was named after the proprietor and not the singer, otherwise the night had the potential to become operawkward. The place looked nice, not too fancy, but not too far on the other end of the spectrum in lowbrow territory. It was definitely the sort of place she would choose for a date, or a night out with friends. Lucky her, tonight was _both_ …sort of. She took a moment to consider what some of _her_ friends might make of Bucky, but that way lay madness, and domestic daydreams the likes of which were just not _appropriate_ for a first date.

Soulmate or no.

She thought it _highly_ likely that Bucky and his friends were already there, scoping out the territory and getting the lay of the land, so-to-speak. At least, that’s what she sort of assumed uber-tactical supersoldiers did, but it was entirely possible that she was overthinking things and halfway to talking herself out of going inside. It was stupid, this was so _stupid_. She was torn between panic and a certain level of detached self-disgust over the ridiculousness of her panic.

Darcy walked over to the door and set her shoulders against the wall by the menu-box that showcased Placido’s specialties. She let her head fall forward a little and allowed her arms to dangle straight down, taking a few deep, even breaths.

“You’re overreacting, Darcy. Sure, they’re superheroes, and they’re Bucky’s best friends, _and_ probably his family for all intents and purposes…but they’re just _people_. You can totally walk in there and be your awesome self. Nobody’s gonna puke on you, the likelihood of gun or knife violence is slim, this is gonna be a whole helluva lot less traumatic than a night on the ER shift. So, just. Do it.”

“That was inspiring, really. I am feeling very gung-ho,” an amused voice drawled from just in front and to the right of her. She looked up to see the Falcon, aka Sam Wilson, watching her with a small smile on his face. “If you want,” he said, “I can take a short walk down the street and come back after you’re done…only, I’m a little worried you might not still be here. That was the _worst_ pep talk I’ve ever heard.”

Darcy stared at him, slack-jawed. After a few moments during which her brain rebooted, she pushed off the wall and stepped forward, scowling at him: “I’m a nurse, not some sort of speech-writer. I talk kids through getting shots, or sometimes talk people down after they’ve _been_ shot…this whole,” she made a flappy hand gesture, “ _soulmate_ thing is a little new.”

He quirked a brow at her, “You’ve known who he was for years, or at least months, I’d think you’d be a little more prepared for this.”

She snorted. “Honestly? I’m not sure what’s giving me more butterflies: meeting superheroes or meeting all of his _friends_.”

Sam rocked back on his heels, considering this. “Well, first off, it’s not _all_ his friends. It’s just Steve, Nat, and me. Second off…yeah, I can see that being pretty scary. I’ve been there, sort of. I mean, I met my soulmate through Steve, so I guess I already had an in, technically. What you gotta take into consideration though, is that Bucky’s been sharing your letters with all of us for almost as long as you’ve been writing them.”

“Oh god,” Darcy felt a blush blooming and slapped her hands to her cheeks, _utterly mortified_. She knew, technically, that Bucky had done that. He’d told her at the museum, she’d just…forgotten. “Well that’s just… Oh boy.”

“Hey,” Sam stepped forward, loosely clasping his hands at her wrists and tugging till she stopped trying to hide. He ducked his head to look her in the eye (stupid superheroes were all taller than her, goddamnit). “Hey,” he said again, “lemme finish. What I was _going_ to say is that while Bucky was getting to know you, we were too, and we all already _like you_ , Darcy, and not just ‘cause you’re Bucky’s soulmate. We like _you._ ”

She blinked at him. “You’re…pretty good at pep talks.”

Sam grinned, “I know.”

“ _Less_ good at being humble.”

“Well, we all have our faults.” He stuck out an arm, “Ready to go in?”

She reached out and took his proffered arm. “No, but we should go anyways – “

“Attagirl.”

“ – and you should keep a hold on my elbow till we get to the table.”

“…why?”

“There’s still a good chance I’ll put a Darcy-shaped hole in the door if I let myself overthink this.”

“Right,” he said, reaching over with his other hand and settling it gently, but firmly, overtop of hers where it rested in the crook of his elbow, “I’d rather not see that happen.” He started walking, tugging Darcy along beside him, “I mean, Tony could afford the repair, but Bucky’s sad face is a goddamn _menace._ ”

“He looks like a pouter, is he a pouter?”

“Surprisingly no, he does this turned-down lip thing, like,” Sam made an appropriately sad face, waiting till she was looking at him and therefore somewhat distracted before he pushed the door open and pulled her through, “like that, but add seventy-some years of angst and atonement.”

“So, like that, but add some Batman?”

“Exactly.”

“Sam?” Darcy said as they came abreast of the host station.

“Yeah?”

“You’re _really_ good at this.”

He smiled easily, “So they tell me. Our table’s towards the back.” He pointed, and she could see a set of booths tucked against the wall in the rear of the restaurant, out of the way of the general floor but still easily accessible by wait staff. Sam waited till they were a bit closer before leaning down and whispering, “Steve wants to be your friend almost as much as you want him to like you and, in spite of what it might look like, Natasha is _not_ plotting how to kill you in your sleep.”

Darcy had no time to react to that – probably his plan, sneaky fucker – before they were spotted and Bucky bounded out of his seat to meet them. He stopped about five feet from the booth, equidistant between it and them and looked for all the world like a sight hound that had seen its quarry and was waiting for the okay from its handler: he was fairly quivering, standing there and staring at her like he was _literally_ trying to memorize her.

“Hi,” she said, coming to a stop.

“Hi,” he said back.

“Oh my god,” Sam said. “Just hug the girl. Kiss her. _Something._ This staring thing where you have actual hearts in your eyes? Way too Disney.” He looked over Bucky’s shoulder at someone Darcy couldn’t see, “If anything you _understated_ the twitterpation.”

“Shut up, Wilson,” Bucky said, not taking his eyes away from Darcy.

She was blushing, she _knew_ she was blushing, goddamnit. But…he did have a point. She took a step forward and opened her arms, raising her eyebrows in silent inquiry. Bucky’s whole body twitched forward a bit, then he visibly restrained himself, giving her his own raised-brow inquiry, one that clearly said, _Are you_ sure _you’re okay with this?_

Darcy rolled her eyes and grinned at him: “When in doubt, hug it out.”

Bucky snorted, but wasted no time closing the distance between them and wrapping his arms around her. Huh, they were getting better at this hugging thing, getting a bit more coordinated. He’d gone low while she’d gone high, so she could loosely link her fingers at the back of his neck (right below his bun, which…why hadn’t he cut his hair yet?), just resting against him for a second or two.

“Hey,” she said, a little muffled where her face was half-pressed to his shirt.

“Thanks for coming,” he said, and then he rested his chin on top of her head and just _held on_ for a minute.

There’s a point in any hug where one, or both, parties feel that it should be over, and then begins to disengage. This causes the other party to let go as well. Darcy didn’t really feel like letting go, he was nice and warm and she felt oddly _safe_ , plus it meant she didn’t have to try to talk to anybody. Bucky didn’t seem particularly motivated to end the hug either, in fact – looking back – he had yet to be the one who ended _any_ one of their hugs.

She wondered if this was something she’d get tired of at some point: having somebody whose default state seemed to be wanting to hold her.

“Steve,” Sam said in a stage whisper, “go grab Bucky before he assimilates her.”

“Before he _what?_ ” a second masculine voice, familiar to her from earlier that afternoon, asked.

“He hasn’t gotten to Next Generation yet, Sam,” a female voice this time.

“Why did I suggest this?” Bucky muttered.

Darcy bit her lip and tried not to laugh at his long-suffering tone, “You wanted me to meet your friends and not be scared of the superheroes.”

He sighed, “They’re regular people most of the time. Regular _shits_ right now.”

She nodded, then unlinked her fingers and let her hands slide down so they were resting against his chest between them. She most certainly did _not_ think about how firm he was underneath his jacket, and she decidedly _did not_ think about the fact that, while standing this close, if she looked up while he looked down they’d practically be kissing. No, instead, she smoothed her hands over his jacket’s lapel and then lightly pushed off, stepping back and away from him.

Bucky let his arms slide away from her and down to his sides, but his hands were curling a bit like he was grabbing at the air.

Darcy stepped up and to his right, sliding her hand into his flesh one and turning to face the music – his friends.

Namely: Captain America, Black Widow, and the sneaky-but-also-surprisingly-helpful Falcon.

The Captain was seated in the booth which, instead of being two bench seats facing each other, was instead one of those curved booths that made a half-circle. Sam was seated to the Captain’s left and the Widow was standing beside the booth, watching them so intently that Darcy suddenly understood Sam’s last-second, and slightly terrifying, comment.

She raised her free hand and gave a short wave. “Um, hi?”

The corner of the Widow’s lip twitched up a fraction and then she stepped forward and offered her hand: “Natasha Romanov, it’s a pleasure to finally meet you.”

“Darcy Lewis,” she replied, deeply grateful that it didn’t come out squeaky and trying not to succumb to the little voice in her head screaming _this has to be a dream, this cannot be your actual life, your actual life does not involve superpeople and soulmates and this is too surreal to be real_. “It’s nice to meet you, too.”

The Widow - _Natasha_ , better start thinking of her like that before she slipped up and used her other identity’s name instead – nodded and then slid into the booth beside Sam in a move so smooth it looked like water flowing downhill.

Sam gave her a nod, “We’ve met, but: Sam Wilson, call me ‘Sam.’”

Steve, who she had also technically met, stood (awkwardly, because it was a booth and not even superserum could make standing in a booth not-awkward) and leaned over the table to offer his hand. Darcy moved to take it, dragging Bucky along beside her. “We’ve also met, technically speaking,” he said, smiling.

“Yeah, but I was kind of a bitch,” Darcy blurted, “so maybe we can just count this as our first meeting?”

He shrugged, settling back in his seat beside Sam. “I didn’t think you were a,” he looked vaguely uncomfortable, ‘’bitch,’ just overwhelmed.”

Darcy nodded, “Very. Still at least slightly whelmed, but I’m working on it.” She looked from the seats to Bucky, and then back to the space _right next to Captain America_. Bucky took the hint and sat, letting her slide in next to him and…across from Natasha. She might not have thought this through very well.

At least it was a _large_ booth, easily big enough to accommodate all of them and probably a few more people as well. Bucky’s leg was pressed against hers from knee to mid-thigh and their linked hands rested on the seat between them: good because she probably wouldn’t get caught in a flustery stare-down like she had earlier that afternoon with the soldier thing and the Russian-speak, bad because he was kind of…distracting like this.

 _Especially_ in light of those earlier thoughts from the hotel room that she was diligently trying to forget (or suppress).

“So,” Darcy said, “this is where I would usually say something like, ‘How ‘bout that local sport team?’ But – “

Steve sighed deeply, looking mournful. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“I kind of figured. Um, next up would be the weather, but I don’t actually live in New York, so…”

“Darcy,” Natasha said, watching her with a curious look on her face, “when did you figure out James was…James?”

“Well,” she said slowly, “I didn’t actually put two and two together until the big Hydra reveal. I think that makes me a bad American or something, or at least obviously not a big history buff.” She shrugged, “Maybe if we’d covered the world wars in eighth grade I would have made the connection….” Darcy froze, staring down at the table, “Wow, I never actually thought about that before, and now I feel like a terrible person.”

“ _Tasha_ ,” Bucky said, and he sounded kind of like he did when the interviewers were being dicks to Steve.

“Hey, no,” she nudged him with her elbow, “it’s a fair question.” Darcy shrugged, trying to physically shake off the thought that she might have been able to change everything if she’d recognized him, if she’d said something…or maybe she’d have ended up taken by Hydra, made just as brainwashed and crazy as him. Nah, skinny little thirteen-year-old Darcy wouldn’t have been anyone’s idea of an asset. Too far-fetched. “Anyways, I didn’t actually figure it out until you went public. Actually,” she said, a small smile on her face, “I’d been having a really bad day, double-shift and everything, and I went into the locker room and _boom_ , there you were.”

“Were you surprised?” Sam asked.

“There’s surprised, and then there’s what I was, which was so far past that that I ended up back in ‘blasé’ territory,” she said dryly, concentrating on not quailing under the focus of not one, or two, but _four_ superheroes. “What about you, were you guys surprised by my notes?” Her eyes slanted towards Bucky as she muttered, “Since, apparently, you guys read all of them.”

“Both Clint and Tony would like to have a talk with you about color schemes,” Natasha said seriously.

Darcy’s eyes went wide. “Well, I – um,” she stuttered, then steeled herself, “alright, no, I’m sticking to my guns on that one. The Iron Man suit is the biggest ‘look at me, shoot at me!’ target on the team, and that’s _saying something_ considering one of the Avengers becomes the not-so-Jolly Green Giant. Plus, purple? _Purple._ _Why?_ ”

“It’s his favorite color,” Sam explained.

“Really? Huh, it’s actually mine, too,” she processed that. “So, Stark’s is…?”

“Ostentatious,” Natasha supplied.

“That’s…not a color.”

“It is if you’re Tony,” Steve said, sounding every bit as long-suffering as Bucky had mere minutes before.

Darcy bit her lip to keep from laughing at his face. “What about you? Your favorite color?”

He smiled, “Green.”

“Red,” Sam put in.

The look on Natasha’s face was amused but indulgent when she answered, “Orange.”

“Bucky?” Darcy turned her head to find him already looking at her.

“Blue,” he said quietly, his eyes intent on hers, “definitely blue.”

She wasn’t sure whether she wanted to hug him again or punch him because surely blushing _this_ hard _this_ frequently had to be bad for you, right? Darcy tilted her head forward until her forehead knocked into his. “You are a ridiculous flirt,” she told him, “I think the history books actually _downplayed_ it.”

“Oh, really?” he smirked at her, and from this close she could see how his eyes got all _twinkly_ at her. “How _many_ books, exactly?”

“Jerk,” she muttered, pulling away…and then she was blushing again because the _other_ three people at the table were all staring at her – no, _them_. Sam looked like he was trying not to laugh, Natasha looked…fond? It was sort of hard to tell, really. Steve, though, Steve looked almost as happy as Bucky: he was keeping a straight face but his eyes were bright and crinkled at the corners with his repressed smile.

“To answer your earlier question,” Natasha said, “your notes were a welcome distraction. It is my understanding that the first few were passed to Steve before they reached James.”

“I didn’t read them before him,” Steve hastened to explain, “it’s just, Bucky doesn’t really get mail very often, so – “

“It’s not a big deal, punk, I’da shared ‘em with you sooner or later, regardless,” Bucky said, shrugging.

“I sort of wish I’d put more thought into them, now,” Darcy said. “I mean, I’m sure it wasn’t exactly a stellar correspondence, they were just,” she grimaced, “I don’t know, cathartic, I guess? I couldn’t exactly escape the 24-hour news cycle, and seeing Bucky on TV brought up a lot of…memories. I had to do _something_.”

“You chose to reach out,” Steve told her, but his eyes were locked with Bucky’s, “that meant - _means_ \- a great deal, to all of us.”

“I’m either going to pass out or permanently lose my ability to blush,” Darcy muttered to herself, having forgotten to take into account that three of the four people she was sitting with had enhanced senses.

Bucky leaned in towards her: “That would be a cryin’ shame, doll,” he whispered in her ear.

“You!” She leaned away and turned to face him, eyes wide, “You stop that! Right now! I am trying _not_ to be a spazz and that is _not_ going to be possible if you keep flirting with me all through the meal!” She scooted away from him a little, but didn’t release his hand. “You stay _over there_ and keep your eyes and your comments and your _flirtiness_ to _yourself_ or – or – “

“Or what?” he asked, the corner of his mouth starting to pull up into a smirk.

“Or… I will go sit by Natasha and put up my menu so I won’t have to look at you for the rest of the meal,” she told him.

“I’ll make sure he behaves himself,” Steve said.

He was looking a little too happy to deliver that promise convincingly, but still, it was a nice offer. “Thank you,” Darcy said graciously.

“So,” Sam broke in, “you got any other hobbies aside from watching Bucky’s interviews and writing anonymous letters?”

Instinctively, Darcy responded with an eyeroll and a, “Ha-fucking-ha, smartass,” then blanched, eyes darting around the table.

Natasha rolled her eyes, “We regularly deal with Tony Stark and Clint Barton, we are all very difficult to offend.”

“Sure, that’s what they all say,” Darcy said, “right up until I break out the Catholic school and Nascar jokes.”

“Bucky and I went to a Catholic school,” Steve offered.

Darcy froze for a second, shooting a look towards Sam and Natasha on the slightly more in touch with popular culture half of the table. “Um, well,” she started slowly, “I realize that my generation didn’t exactly invent depravity or disrespect, but I somehow doubt that Catholic schoolgirl jokes were _quite_ as much of a Thing, ah, back in your day.”

“’Back in our day?’” Steve echoed, voice dry as the Sahara.

 _To hell with it,_ Darcy decided and gave him her best ‘butter wouldn’t melt’ smile. “Yeah, when you had to walk uphill to school both ways through five feet of snow, _back in your day._ ”

There was silence at the table for a solid minute while Steve and Darcy were caught in an epic staredown before Steve finally cracked a smile and Darcy’s shoulders slumped in poorly-concealed relief.

“ _Finally_ ,” Sam said with a long, drawn-out sigh, “I was about to start plyin’ you with beer and wine, Darcy.”

“To make me relax?” She shook her head, “Bad idea. I get hyper, then I get touchy-feely, and then I pass out. All in quick succession.”

“’Touchy-feely?’” Bucky asked, stroking his thumb along the side of her hand.

“ _Do not even start with me._ ”

“Whatever you say, doll.”

…

After that, conversation started to flow a little more easily. Darcy could, on one level, appreciate the skill it took to keep away awkward silences and _still_ ask as many probing, personal (though not _too_ personal) questions as the Avengers were slipping into their banter. She assumed that Natasha, at the very least, was trained in interrogation, but Steve and Sam were every bit as adept.

By the time they were halfway through dinner, she’d told stories about her childhood, her adolescence, her college days, her family, past pets, and even a couple of her funnier nursing anecdotes. The information hadn’t been flowing one way, though. She’d learned a lot, too, not about missions or Avengery-type business, but about the _people_.

She’d learned that Sam was one of seven ( _SEVEN_ ), that Natasha was trained in dance, that Steve scrapbooked, that the Avengers had movie nights and the occasional team dinner for bonding purposes, that the question of who would get the last Poptart had caused more than one brawl in the kitchen, and many other little factoids that made it a _lot_ easier to look at the three superheroes and see _people_ instead of mind-bogglingly impressive _deeds_.

And then Sam asked the one question she’d been dreading: “So, Darcy, we know your boy here’s a flirt, though I gotta say it’d all been hearsay for me up until you showed up, but what about you?” He smiled teasingly, “Left a string of broken hearts?”

Darcy froze, every muscle locking up tight. Sam’s smile slowly turned into a frown and Bucky reached out for her, having let go when the food arrived – though he’d hooked his right ankle around her left in the meantime. She realized that she could have - _should_ have – blown off the question with a throw-away remark or cavalier shrug, and that her _actual_ reaction was probably as telling as an essay for the superspy and the tactical genius, but she just…didn’t know how to answer that question.

What was she supposed to say? That she’d never seriously dated after her first meeting with Bucky? At first because she was too scared to let anyone close, and later because part of her (a small but vocal part) at least halfway believed that if her _soulmate_ didn’t want her, nobody else would? That she’d coped by shutting down for the rest of middle school, being bitter on the sidelines in high school, and aggressively bed-hopping in college? Sure, she’d settled down with therapy and time, but that wasn’t exactly the sort of _history_ she wanted to trot out in front of _anyone_ at a semi-public dinner.

She wasn’t ashamed of the sex, that wasn’t the problem. The _reason_ for the sex though… Now, years later, Darcy was in some ways ashamed of herself for letting that one meeting with her soulmate, with _Bucky_ dictate so much of her life and her choices afterwards. She had gotten to a point where she had accepted that she would never see her soulmate again, where she was okay with it. Still not really considering jumping onto the dating bandwagon, but at peace with herself as a single person who didn’t _need_ her soulmate, _any_ soulmate, to be happy… and then she’d seen him on the television in the break room, written him a somewhat passive-aggressive letter, and set off a chain of events that she would not, in a million years, have foreseen leading to this moment. This dinner.

How did you condense a ‘dating history’ like that?

Darcy opened her mouth, and – 

“You don’t have to answer that question,” Bucky said, glaring daggers, bullets, and possibly even surface-to-air missiles in Sam’s direction.

“No, it’s okay.” Darcy squeezed his hand, then tugged on him until he relaxed his posture from ‘ready to lunge’ to something more closely resembling ‘casual dinner with friends’ – or as close to ‘casual dinner with friends’ as a person formerly known as The Winter Soldier could get. “I, ah,” she fumbled, “I guess you could say that most of my past relationships were…pretty brief?”

Natasha cocked her head to one side, “And were you usually the one who terminated these…’brief’ associations?”

“Yeah, generally speaking.”

“Natasha…” Bucky said, tensing up again.

The redhead’s eyes flicked over to him for the briefest of moments before fixing on Darcy again. “Are you opposed to that sort of commitment?” she asked, carefully neutral.

“ _Natalia!_ ” Bucky barked.

Darcy squeezed his hand so tightly her knuckles went white. Slowly, very slowly, he turned his attention from Natasha to her, eyes losing some of the ‘deadly’ but none of the ‘intensity’ as he switched focus. She gave him a small, close-lipped smile that was probably a little too tremulous to be as comforting as she wanted it to be.

“Really,” Steve said quietly, “we can change the subject. We all,” he gave Natasha a pointed look, “have things we’d rather not discuss.”

“No, it’s okay.”

It really wasn’t, but at this point Darcy thought not answering would make it even more of a Thing than it already was. She gathered her thoughts, looking up at the ceiling because _like hell_ did she want to make eye contact with anyone at the table right then, _especially_ not Bucky, whose gaze she could feel on the side of her face like hot sun through a car window.

“I’m not opposed to commitment,” she said slowly, trying to find the right wording, the perfect phrase to navigate this conversational minefield. “I guess that, for a long time, I just didn’t see the point of trying to commit to anyone who I didn’t think could reasonably commit back.” She tried to smile, knowing it was probably coming out a bit too bitter to pass off as ‘wry.’ “My schema for figuring out whether or not another person would think that I was worth – that somebody was going to commit was probably pretty skewed.”

There, that was probably a good enough answer without actually giving away too much detail. Or so she thought, right up until she looked away from the ceiling and at Bucky’s face. He looked like someone had just hit him in the stomach. Possibly with Mjolnir, or some other equally impressive mythological weapon.

“Bucky?” she said, pulling their linked hands towards her and resting them on her thigh. “What’s wrong?”

…

Bucky stared at her, her words echoing in his head as certain lines from her last letter sprang up into sharp relief in his mind as they were suddenly put into a new, and altogether horrifying, context.

_…my schema for figuring out whether or not another person would think that I was worth -_

_I’m not sure that I want to meet you again…_

_…whether or not another person would think I was worth -_

_When we met, I was young, and you hurt me very badly._

_…another person would think I was worth -_

_My soulmate was out there, but wanted nothing to do with me._

_…think I was worth -_

_I spent more than ten years thinking my soulmate wanted nothing to do with me._

Her words had been carefully chosen, she was trying _not_ to hurt him, but he could read between the lines. He could figure out what she wasn’t saying: _I didn’t think I was worth it._ She’d been _thirteen_ when they met, a _child_. He’d rejected her, somehow he’d made her think she wasn’t _worth_ caring for, and if her _soulmate_ found her lacking, why would she believe that anyone else might think her worth loving?

He’d hurt her so badly, and yet she was here. She was sitting beside him, holding his hand and looking _concerned_. For _him_.

Bucky had no idea how to deal with that, how to even _fathom_ that level of caring, directed towards _him_. He didn’t have time to unpack how it made him feel, because she was looking at him with those big blue eyes and biting her lip because she was _worried_ over _him_ , worried that what she’s said had _hurt_ him. God, _this woman…_

“Hey,” he said, clearing his throat carefully to dislodge what felt like a brick. “Why the face, doll?”

She squinted at him, “You okay?”

“Fine.” Bucky pasted on his best approximation of the smile he vaguely remembered using to pacify an angry woman, what Steve called his ‘charmer’ smile: “I’m fine, really. Just, ah, glad I don’t have to worry about fightin’ someone for your affections.”

Darcy grinned. “Pretty sure you’d win even if there _was_ someone to fight.”

He relaxed back into his seat a little, now that it seemed the subject was passing. “Fighting is easy,” he told her, turning his head a little so he could watch Steve watching them through his peripherals, “’specially when you’ve got an actual target to hit.” _I’m fighting her memories of me and whatever fool thing I told her. I’m fighting over ten years of hurt. I’m fighting a goddamn idea that I put in her head._

Bucky looked away then, to give both of them at least a moment or two of reprieve. When he looked at his friends, he found Steve was alternating between cautious looks at Darcy and subtle glaring at Natasha. Sam was still lazing back in his seat, but his arms were tense and his grip on his glass was tighter than necessary. Natasha…Natasha waited till he made eye contact with her, then tilted her head slightly forward and let one corner of her mouth crook up while her eyes crinkled a little: sadness and satisfaction in one simple look, Nat’s way of saying, _I am sorry you are hurt by this necessary thing I have done._ It wasn’t quite regret, but that was largely because he knew Nat didn’t allow herself the luxury of regret. When you fucked up, you learned from it and you made sure you didn’t fuck up the same way again.

Although, he couldn’t really be sure whether or not she considered this a ‘fuck up’ until he cornered her later.

“Well,” Steve said after another few seconds of not-quite silence while everyone took a brief break from _making Darcy upset_ to eat their food, “I’ve got a lot of stories about Bucky’s old flames, and believe you me, there were _more_ than enough of them to go around.”

Bucky turned to Darcy and gave her an exaggerated eye roll, “He likes tellin’ these stories about when we were punk kids in Brooklyn because there’s nobody around to naysay him when he makes a minnow a whale. I’m still remembering, and most of our contemporaries are, well…”

“Well on their way to fossilization?” Darcy offered guilelessly.

Sam snorted so hard he choked, while Steve shut his eyes and muttered a short prayer for patience, and Natasha looked like the cat that got the cream.

Darcy blinked, “Did I miss something?”

Bucky shrugged, “Not sure.”

Sam, recovered after chugging half his glass of water, leaned forward. “Lets skip the stories of Steve’s childhood and I’ll get right to the good stuff,” he said, grinning. “Let me tell you the story of how I met _this_ asshole,” he tilted his head toward Steve, “and discovered I was the soulmate to _this_ beautiful bundle of capital-T _trouble_ ,” he jerked his chin towards Natasha.

Darcy gave him a suspicious look, but the corners of her mouth kept trying to climb: “Is this a kissing story?” she asked.

Sam laughed. “Well, there’s no fencing, but there’s a lot of fighting, some torture, revenge, redemption, monsters, chases, escapes, soulmates, and,” he smiled softly, “more than our fair share of miracles. More than one of ‘em sitting at this table, even.”

“ _Ooh_ , I think I like it already!” She scooted a little closer to Bucky, squeezing his fingers but not moving their linked hands from where they rested on her thigh.

Bucky was _not going_ to think about exactly where his hand was placed, or how close it was to other… _places._ He shook his head and turned his attention to Sam’s _highly embellished_ version of the fall of SHIELD.

…

The rest of dinner, and even dessert, went smoothly. Bucky was able to calm himself as Darcy relaxed, though he started experiencing a new kind of tension as the more she relaxed the more she cozied up to him. She just started to _lean_ until she was settled against his side, her head flirting with the idea of resting on his shoulder. He didn’t even think it was entirely conscious on her part, and that made it even more affecting.

“It’s getting kind of late,” Steve finally said, a touch apologetically.

Natasha turned towards Darcy and Bucky found himself tensing as she turned her cool green eyes on his soulmate. “Do you have plans?” she asked.

“Um,” Darcy said, “besides sleep, breathe, eat, and repeat? Not really.”

Sam laughed, “Well, Tony wanted us to extend an invitation to the Tower.”

“’Invitation?’” Steve said, eyebrows arching. “Is that what we’re calling it? Really?”

“It sounds better than, ‘He’ll probably track you down and introduce himself in a grandiose manner if you don’t make plans to meet him.’”

“Well,” Darcy said, and she was biting her lip again (Bucky couldn’t help but notice, and then curse himself for noticing), “I suppose I could make my way towards Stark Tower at some point tomorrow to…visit? I guess?”

“We would be happy to entertain you,” Natasha said, smiling.

“Right,” Darcy said deliberately, “you don’t have to ‘entertain’ me, _really_. I am very easily entertained. No extra effort needs to be made. _Please_ don’t do anything extra or out of the ordinary, besides be yourselves, I guess, because you’re all pretty _extra_ ordinary and oh my god, I’m babbling again. _Shit._ ”

“You know, I’ve noticed that there’s been a distinct lack of Darcy-shaped holes in the walls this evening,” Sam said easily. “You’ve done fine with us, you’ll be fine with the rest.”

She took a very deep breath, Bucky could feel her ribs expanding against his side, and then she started to let it out slowly.

“Hey,” he said, drawing her attention. He gave her a small smile: “Can I walk you home?”

The rest of her breath gushed out with a soft ‘whoosh.’ “Really?” she asked, grinning at him. “You wanna _walk me home?_ ”

Bucky ducked his head a little to look her in the eyes. “Please?” he asked softly.

“You – I – oh, _fine_. Sure, Bucky. You can ‘walk’ me home to my hotel,” she said, then looked away quickly, though not fast enough to keep him from seeing the slight flush that had pinked her cheeks.

He liked seeing that color on his face when it was _him_ putting it there instead of panic. He glanced up to Steve, and –

“Go on,” he said, smiling knowingly, “get out of here. We’ll leave a light on for you.”

“Thanks, you’re a real pal,” Bucky said. He nudged Darcy with his shoulder, and with how close she was sitting that motion essentially involved twitching with intent, and tilted his head towards the exit. “Shall we?”

She scooted out of the booth, releasing his hand until she stood, then offering it back to him again. “We shall,” she told him in mock solemnity. “You know,” she began while he was extricating himself from the booth, a task made more interesting by her refusal to take more than a step away from the seat, “it’s a little late right now, but you still owe me a drink… _soldier_.”

Bucky didn’t think he’d be able to adequately explain it if he was given a week and seven or eight reams of paper, but something about hearing _that_ word from _those_ lips, first as a tease and now as a deliberate flirt, made him want to grab her and carry her off somewhere where he could make _damn_ sure she knew she was _his_ girl, and he was _her_ soldier.

He didn’t reply until he was standing before her, now a little glad she hadn’t moved farther away because he liked the way she was looking up at him: all big eyes, flushed cheeks, and barely parted lips. Bucky tilted his face down and tried _not_ to think about how temptingly close those plush lips were to his while he warned her, “You’re playing with fire, doll.” Bucky reached towards her with his free hand and skimmed his fingers along the line of her jaw, only just keeping from wincing at the sight of the silvery metal against her pale skin. She’d shown so much tolerance for his arm, but it was one thing to hold his hand and another to let _him_ touch _her_ , especially on such delicate regions.

She tilted her head, leaning into the caress. Her eyes slipped shut when he gave in and cupped her cheek with his metal hand, his worries draining away every bit as fast as they’d risen at the sight of her genuine pleasure.

“Do you think,” Sam wondered, “that they’ve forgotten we’re here?”

“Yes,” Natasha said.

“Probably,” Steve agreed.

“ _Shitheads_ ,” Bucky sighed.

Darcy smiled at him. “Cab?”

“Cab,” he echoed, nodding, and turned toward the door.

The street was cool enough that they released each other to shrug back into their respective jackets. When that was done, Bucky held out his hand. Darcy looked down at his hand, up at him, and then started giggling even as she twined her fingers with his.

“We really are kind of ridiculous.”

“Do you mind?”

She pretended to think about it. “Surprisingly…no. I still think it’s ridiculous that you wanna _walk me to my door_ , though.”

“Humor me.”

“Oh, I am,” she assured him. “Now, cab?”

Bucky hailed them a cab and then held the door when one pulled up, allowing her to slip in before him. The ride back to her hotel was brief, but he treasured every moment. They spent most of the ride discussing the next day’s plans, which meant Bucky spent most of the ride assuring Darcy that she had already met the scariest Avengers, and that led to a frank discussion of what each of them found ‘scary’ and where on their personal scale of fear they placed it.

“Spiders don’t bother me,” Darcy was telling him as they pulled up to her hotel, “but snakes? _Fuck_ snakes.”

“Don’t really feel all that much about them one way or the other. I hate rats, though,” he offered.

She wrinkled her nose, and he found it unspeakably adorable. “Ew,” she said succinctly. “Some people keep them as pets, you know.”

“…why?”

“They’re smart, I guess?”

“Great,” he said, shaking his head, “smart vermin. Just what the world needs.”

“What the world needs now is love, sweet love,” Darcy sang at him, grinning at his quizzical look. “Ask one of the others. Or maybe you could just Google it. Also? We’re here.” She nudged his side gently with her elbow, “I’d rather not get out on the traffic side, so you’re gonna have to get out so _I_ can get out, and then you can get back in and go.”

He arched a brow at her: “Said I was gonna walk you to your door.”

She blinked, “But I thought – “

“Come on,” Bucky said, jumping out of the cab before she could object further.

“Should I be looking up dating rituals of the 1940’s?” she asked him, clearly only half-joking, while he paid the cabbie.

“Told you I wanted to court you,” he reminded her.

“I didn’t think you were – okay, I _did_ think you were serious, I guess I’m just not sure what that entails.”

He offered her his elbow this time, instead of his hand, smiling when she curled her palm to rest on the inside of his arm. “There’s no real _rules_ to this, it’s more of a,” he paused, frowning and searching for words, “a statement of intent, I guess. There’s a difference between stepping out with a girl and courting a woman.”

“And this, the hand-holding and the walking-me-to-my-door?”

Bucky shrugged, “You might do some of that with a girl you were stepping out with, but the intent, like I said, it’s different.”

Darcy appeared to be thinking that over. It wasn’t until after they’d crossed the lobby and made their way into the elevator before she dropped his arm, turned to him, and asked, “So? What do you intend?”

He tilted his head to the side, studying her. She was frowning, but she didn’t look upset, more…nervous. “I thought I’d made that pretty clear.”

“You have,” she agreed immediately. “Well, sort of. Not in so many words. I mean, the talk about courting is very,” she made a hand gesture that involved a lot of dancing fingers and a bit of flailing, “but, I – the walking me to my door, all the way _to_ my door, and. I don’t know, just, there are lots of different kinds of relationships between soulmates, you know? I…I like you. You’re…” she shrugged, “you’re very…”

Bucky tried not to smile.

“Stop that,” she said, “I see that. You are very _charming_ , Bucky Barnes, but you’re also very sweet, or you’ve been sweet with me, and very honest. Or, well, I assume you’ve been honest, and I mean, earlier, at the coffee place…well, we’re obviously _attracted_ to each other.”

 _Doll, you sure do know how to make a forest fire sound like a campfire,_ he thought.

She was looking down at the ground now, shifting her weight back and forth from foot to foot. “So, I guess what I wanted to ask you is,” she took a deep breath and looked up, directly into his eyes, “what do you _want_ , Bucky?”

The elevator dinged and the doors opened: they’d reached her floor.

Darcy licked her lips, still shifting a little on her feet. “This is me, well, I mean, I’m just down the hall.”

He nodded and wordlessly gestured for her to precede him.

“Okay then,” she muttered, and took a sharp left out of the elevator.

Bucky followed her, trying not to crowd too close to her back as they made their way down the hall. It was the strangest sort of tunnel-vision, but he couldn’t look away from her, couldn’t stop watching the back of her head and wondering what on _earth_ was going on in it.

Darcy stopped in front of her door and turned back to him. “This is me – mine! You,” she sighed, “you don’t have to answer that question, by the way. I mean, obviously you don’t _have_ to answer, but I know I just sort of threw it at you and I have no idea if you’ve even really _thought_ about any of this – “

“I have.”

“ – anywhere _near_ as much as I…oh. You have?”

Bucky nodded.

Darcy waited expectantly. “So…?”

He took a deep breath, closing his eyes against the sight of her sweet, hopeful face. “I don’t want to scare you, doll.”

He could hear her scoffing. “ _Scare_ me? What, are you into something really terrifyingly kinky – “

“Darcy.”

“ – or something? I mean, what do you possibly think could be scarier than superheroes and supervillains and – “

“ _Darcy_.”

“ – world domination, oh my!” she finished with yet another exasperated huff. She’d crossed her arms and was giving him an impressively _un_ impressed look. “Just _tell_ me!”

With her arms crossed like that it was extremely easy to grip both her elbows and steer her so her back was to the wall. Bucky crowded up against her, removing his hands from her person to brace himself by planting his fists against the wall to either side of her. He leaned down and buried his nose in the hair just to the side of her face and breathed her in for a few moments.

“…Bucky?”

“You, Darcy. I want _you_.” He pulled himself away enough to make eye contact, hoping to impress his sincerity on her through sheer force of will: “I want _you_. I want everything you’re willing to give me. I want your sarcasm and your commentary, I want your panic and your fluster, I want your curses, I want your babbling, I want your smiles, I want that funny way your lips purse just a bit when you frown.” He detached one hand, his flesh hand, from the wall to cup along her jawline and rub his thumb back and forth across her chin, just below her lips. “I want to look at you, and touch you, I want –“ he cut off with a short oath, slipping into Russian for a second in his frustration. “I want so _many_ things, Darcy… _doll_ , my кукла… but most of all, what I want is for you to _choose_ this, choose _me_. I’ve already taken so much from you, I – I don’t want to take anything else you don’t want to give, not even accidentally.”

He thought he was prepared for anything: her fear, her confusion, maybe even outright rejection, what he was _not_ prepared for was for Darcy to throw her arms around his neck and pull herself up those few remaining inches to kiss him.

Bucky, later, would have liked to be able to say that his brain shut down. He would have liked to have that excuse, no matter how flimsy it was, but his brain did _not_ shut down, it was merely overloaded with a sudden influx of _Darcy._ The way Darcy smelled: warm and sweet and a little earthy. The way Darcy tasted: a little like Placido’s tomato sauce, a little like her lipstick, and a lot like something he wanted hours to explore and discover every nuance of. The way she felt: warm against him, soft where she was pressed against his chest, her fingers curling against the back of his neck and tugging at his hair, pressure from her lips sliding against his, and slick when her tongue darted out to taste him in return. The way she _sounded:_ little gasps and hitches in her breathing, soft hums that were almost moans bubbling up her throat, all quiet, though – so quiet that he couldn’t help but wonder what would make her _loud_.

He, in short order, found himself pressing her firmly against the wall: one hand buried in her hair and holding her close and still the better to control their kiss, the other curled tightly at her hip and clutching at her like she might up and disappear. The hand at her hip, the metal hand, started edging up. He pressed in, to trace the dip of her waist, then up farther to feather over the outside of her breast.

Darcy whimpered and pulled away from the kiss enough to gasp out a quick, “ _Bucky!_ ”

And that was when he came crashing back to reality.

He tore himself away from her, taking three large steps down the hall and away and then turning his back on her to collect himself. Bucky was taking deep breaths, trying to ignore the way _she_ was practically panting, fists clenched at his sides because if he gave himself even an _inch_ of leeway, he knew he’d have her in his arms again in an instant.

“Bucky?”

“I – I’m sorry, doll,” he said.

“For…stopping?”

He laughed hoarsely, “Oh god, doll – don’t, please _don’t_. I can’t…” No dice, he needed something to grab onto, so he lifted his hands and fisted them in the hair at his temples, ignoring the way it pulled most of it loose of the bun he’d been wearing it in for most of the evening. “I guess I don’t – I don’t have any sort of control where you’re concerned.”

There was a brief pause, and then she was asking, “That’s a _bad_ thing?”

“ _Darcy._ ”

“Or, at least, you _think_ it’s a bad thing,” he heard her mutter.

“Darcy…” he sighed, then dropped his hands and turned to face her.

That was a mistake. A big one. She was frowning at him, but her eyes were shaded darker than normal, her lips red and her cheeks flushed. Her hair was mussed on one side and the skirt of her dress was rucked up a little on the other. She looked like a woman who had just been thoroughly kissed and would not be opposed to more. Darcy tilted her head to one side, considering him, and a small part of him wondered what her neck - all that smooth, creamy skin - would look like if he bit at it, and maybe sucked. Just a little.

“I don’t know what you’re thinking,” she told him, “but judging by your expression, I think my answer would probably be ‘yes.’”

“ _Darcy!_ ”

“What?”

“Look,” he said, taking another step back for good measure, “you know what I want, but I don’t really know what _you_ want, and I – I told you, doll, I don’t want to take anything from you that you don’t wanna give and that _includes_ taking somethin’ you might _regret_ giving later.”

She scowled at him, “You’re _that_ sure I’ll regret it?”

“I’m completely sure that I don’t wanna take that chance,” he said evenly. “I don’t wanna gamble with you, and I don’t wanna rush things.”

Darcy frowned, complete with that adorable little lip-pursing thing that was suddenly a whole lot less adorable a whole lot more _entrancing_ when her lips were still flushed from his attentions. “We were _kissing_ , Bucky, not tearing each other’s clothes off.”

That…was not a picture he needed to be entertaining at the moment.

“I know,” he told her, “but you’re hell on my control, and we woulda been headed there shortly.”

Darcy squinted at him, “You don’t think I could have stopped you?”

“I know I would have stopped if you’d asked me to, but I also know that I could make sure you wouldn’t _want_ to ask me to.”

 _That_ caused her to give him an arch look: “You’re that confident in your, ah, _skills?_ ”

Bucky let his eyes trail slowly from her face, to her neck, down the length of her torso to her hips, legs, feet, and then – just as slowly – track back up till he could meet her eyes again. There were brand new spots of color on her cheeks, and her eyes had gone wide in surprise.

“Yes,” he answered curtly.

“Oh,” she said, voice gone breathy in a way that made his hands – both of them – ache to touch her. “Well, in that case, maybe I should just go to bed.”

Darcy. In bed. All that long, brown hair spread out over her pillows –

“Yeah,” he said, “maybe you should.”

She crouched and grabbed her purse from the floor where it had fallen, fishing out her key card. “I’ll see you tomorrow, though?”

“Of course.”

“Okay, um, do you want me to call you?”

“Please.”

Darcy nodded, then bit her lip.

 _She’s gonna kill me_ , Bucky thought, _and it’s gonna be an accident._

She smiled softly, “Goodnight, Bucky.”

“Goodnight, Darcy,” he said, and then he watched her unlock her door, open it, and head in. She stopped in the doorway and gave him a small wave before letting the door shut behind her. He waited for a moment or two, and then he let his shoulders slump. Much though a part of him, a rather _vocal_ part, would have loved to follow her into that room and continue their activities, he was _exhausted_.

 _Been a helluva day,_ he thought as he headed back to the elevator. _Wonder what tomorrow’ll bring…_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> END OF ARC ONE.
> 
> THANK RAINNE, GO ON, DO IT. AND THEN READ THE EPIC AU OF THIS AU THAT SHE HAS WRITTEN. BECAUSE IT IS EPIC AND AMAZING AND I LOVE IT.


	13. Chapter 13

When Bucky got back to the Tower that night he made a beeline for his own rooms. There was a fifty/fifty that Stark, and whomever else he had managed to convince, was waiting up for him in the common area, ready to ambush him and get the juicy details. There was also a chance that Steve had guilted everyone into going to bed, unless, of course, he was _also_ going to wait around for details. Either way, he wanted no part of it; he had too much to think about. And, he mused, as he entered his apartment to find the lights already on, his conversational dance card was already filled for the night.

Natasha was sitting on the sofa, drinking tea. He moved past her to the kitchen, fixing his own mug from the leftover hot water in the kettle before returning to the living area and settling in the chair opposite her.

“Why?” he asked as soon as he was seated.

“You needed to know,” she said, “and she needed to tell you.”

“She woulda, _in her own time_ , Nat. Why did you _push?_ ”

“Because _you_ will not push her, and you needed to know this.”

Bucky squeezed his eyes shut and counted to ten. In every language he knew. “Natalia,” he said warningly.

She huffed at him, setting her tea down on the table and becoming more animated. “It was there, James, between the lines. She was hurt and she reacted and she feels she reacted poorly. She is not _proud_ of this history, and sharing it with you in full would hurt her. This way she could tell you without having to _tell you_ , because you were watching, you were _paying attention_ , and using your skills you finally put the pieces together.”

“ _You_ could have told me,” he pointed out.

“It was not my place,” she demurred.

Bucky was not sure what went on in his friend’s head, what drew the line between what she could and could not interfere with, but he wasn’t sure he agreed with it. Clearly it was time to set some boundaries of his own. “You don’t do this again, Nat,” he told her firmly. “You think there’s somethin’ I need to know, somethin’ I need to _do_ , you come tell me. Don’t hint around, don’t poke, and don’t _push my soulmate into saying shit she’s not ready to._ She’s been hurt enough, _I’ve_ hurt her enough.” He sighed, “I already feel like I’ve gotta watch myself, I don’t want to feel like I’ve got to watch my friends around her, too.”

“Aside from Tony,” Nat said, but the look in her eyes was an apology.

“Aside from Tony,” he agreed, and the smile on his face let her know it was accepted.

…

Darcy slumped against the door, staring off into space.

_Did that actually just happen?_

She reached up with a shaking hand and lightly touched her fingertips to her lips, finding them warm and swollen.

_That happened. That definitely happened._

Bucky kissed her. Bucky wanted to do _more_ than just kiss her, but he had restrained himself. Bucky wanted to _keep_ her, it sounded like. In fact, it sounded like he wanted everything that she’d ever dreamed of as a little girl. It sounded like a fucking fairytale romance, complete with decades-long sleep, misunderstandings, pining, and – no. She was trivializing it, making it something distant and _other_. She couldn’t - _shouldn’t_ \- do that, not with this. This was real and happening and _oh my god_ , this was _real_.

Bucky really _did_ want her. He did. He’d been broken and put back together and the man he was now looked at her like she was some sort of fantastical impossibility. She shucked her dress, not caring where it fell, and dropped down onto the bed. Darcy was not really sure what to do with everything that had happened. She’d heard the adage ‘expect the worst, hope for the best’ and she’d applied it to her trip to New York, but this was beyond her hopes. Right now, right here, it seemed like there was a chance for the kind of happy ending she hadn’t let herself dream of since she was a little girl.

Her hands, when she moved to strip the rest of her clothes and jewelry, were shaking.

_Okay, self, too much excitement for one day. Just… take it one day at a time. Best case scenario… well, it’s looking better than ever. Doesn’t mean you shouldn’t still prepare for the worst._

The worst…

Like meeting all of his superhero friends and disappointing them?

Darcy gulped. She rather doubted she would be getting any sleep tonight…

The next morning, when she awoke, she realized that she was half right. She’d been up tossing and turning till all hours of the night before she’d finally succumbed to sleep and – judging by the sunlight streaming in through the window – slept half the day away. Darcy scrambled for her phone, cursing under her breath until she read the time **12:32PM** , at which point her curses went from under her breath to at the top of her lungs. She flailed her way out of the tangle of sheets she’d created and sprinted for the bathroom. She showered, brushed her teeth, and prepped for the day in record time before she stalled out again over her suitcase and the meager wardrobe she’d brought along.

Darcy hadn’t exactly planned for _Stark Tower_ which, in hindsight, had been rather foolish on her part. She considered her options carefully, then mentally threw up her hands in despair and grabbed the nearest shirt (a long-sleeved v-neck in a royal blue) and a pair of jeans. It was, she reminded herself, perfectly _normal_ to wear jeans for a casual meet-n-greet. Then she had to stop and take several deep breaths because she was about to _casually meet-n-greet the Avengers_.

No, that wasn’t accurate, she’d already met roughly half of them: Bucky, Steve, Sam, and Natasha had been fine. Admittedly, Natasha’s questions had been slightly less than fine but how bad could it be, today? Darcy slumped onto the bed, staring at her hands as she started to _actually contemplate_ how very badly things could go. The buzzing of her phone eventually brought her out of her reverie and she dove for it, answering with a breathless, “Hi?”

“Darcy?” It was Bucky on the other end, sounding a little uncertain.

“Yes? Um, yeah, hi! Oh god, I am so sorry – I didn’t set an alarm because I assumed I would wake up at a reasonable hour but I didn’t take into account how much yesterday took it out of me and I had a hard time getting to sleep so I only just woke up a little bit ago – I’m not trying to blow you off, I swear!”

He chuckled, “S’ok, doll. I understand.”

“Really?”

“Really. You still want to come ‘round, meet everyone?”

“… Yes?”

“You sure?” he asked, sounding a little worried. “You don’t have to,” he said softly. “We can do something else.”

“No, no, I – “ she took a deep breath. “I want to meet your friends. I do. Just… Promise to stop me if I start going off like that again? Or start panicking?”

“If you panic, I’ll just bring you to my suite and you can calm down out of sight.”

 _I really doubt ‘calm’ is what I’ll feel if you take me near your bedroom,_ she thought.

“ _Darcy_ ,” Bucky choked out and –

“I said that out loud, didn’t I?”

“Yeah.” He cleared his throat, but his voice was still noticeably lower than it had been. “Yeah, you did.”

There was a brief, awkward (on her part) silence before she asked, “So… should I come around now?”

“Want me to get Stark to send a car?”

The very thought made Darcy shiver a little. “No, I’ll get a cab. Be there soon.”

“I’ll be waiting,” Bucky said softly.

She mentally flailed over how to end the call before settling on a quiet, “Goodbye,” and hanging up as soon as he returned the closing. She stared at her phone for just long enough to count to ten before she shook herself grabbed her purse and jacket, and headed for the door. _Once more unto the breach…_

The ride over was roughly twenty minutes, and it probably could have been worse considering it was lunchtime. Darcy spent most of the trip taking in the sights and concentrating on breathing. She even spared a little bit of time to wonder if she was at the ‘hello kiss’ stage of her relationship with Bucky. After some thought (and a bit of fond reminiscing) she decided that they probably weren’t: _mostly_ because she still wasn’t sure she wanted to be ‘outed’ as the soulmate or significant other of an Avenger, but also partially because she wasn’t sure they’d be able to keep a kiss in the PG range.

Darcy ended up fanning herself with her hand for the last few minutes of the ride, even though the taxi was air-conditioned.

Finally, they arrived at Stark Tower, which was not even _remotely_ ‘stark’ – the damn thing fairly _glittered_. Most of the buildings in this part of town were shiny, but the light around the tower seemed different somehow, in a way that she couldn’t really pin down. Darcy wasn’t sure if it was because of some special quality unique to the energy the arc reactor provided, or if it was some super secret Avenger doohickey that made the tower stand out. She couldn’t help but wonder if it was a good thing for the tower to be so very distinctive. She also wondered if the insurance premiums of the surrounding buildings had gone up when Tony Stark decided to headquarter the Avengers there.

She headed into the building slowly, looking around at all the sights. The lobby looked like the lobby to a classy hotel. There were plush seats and tables, a few televisions scattered in that area, as well as a small bar and what looked like a restaurant over to her left. To her right there was a check-in area, and a bank of elevators beyond. It was massive, there were people _everywhere_ and Darcy didn’t recognize _anyone_. Except, that is, for the redhead waking towards her.

“Hello,” said Pepper Potts, CEO of Stark Enterprises, smiling warmly. “I’m – “

“I’m pretty sure everyone who’s seen a newspaper in the last decade knows who you are,” Darcy interrupted, then immediately clapped a hand to her mouth, making ‘sorry’ eyes at the older woman. “I am so sorry, I’m just…” She sighed. “Stress does a number on my verbal filter.”

“I understand,” she said, not losing one iota of warmth. “I’d try to tell you not to worry, but I’m sure it would be pointless.”

“Pretty much. I’m Darcy Lewis, by the way, though I’m betting by this point that you know that.”

“I did indeed,” Pepper confirmed, eyes twinkling. “Now, I was sent out here to greet you because I’m currently interviewing to find a few new assistants…”

“Ooh, good idea! Well, I would be happy to tell you all about my nonexistent qualifications, Ms. Potts,” she said, grinning.

“Right this way, then.” She gestured for Darcy to follow her and then turned towards the elevators.

Darcy gamely followed her, ignoring the speculative looks cast her way by a bevy of suit-wearing hopefuls who were there, she assumed, for the aforementioned position. It probably didn’t look too good for their chances that their possible future boss had come down to _personally_ greet one of the candidates. She hoped that there actually _was_ a job opening and that they weren’t getting those guys’ hopes up just to provide her a cover. Shaking her head, she refocused on Pepper Potts. There were a _lot_ of elevators, but Pepper immediately headed for one towards the end of the row. Each of the elevators had a different design on the doors and, after looking at a few, Darcy realized that each design was a different view of New York City, each labeled by year.

“Howard Stark’s idea,” Pepper explained when she saw Darcy looking. “He loved this city.”

She nodded, but she couldn’t help but notice that the elevator she was being led to was also the only elevator that _didn’t_ depict New York. Instead, there was a stylized engraving of what was clearly a set of blueprints. Darcy wasn’t sure what the blueprints were for, but it was an interesting touch.

“Mr. Stark not as much of a fan of the city as his dad was?” she asked curiously.

Pepper shot her a sharp look, then relaxed, offering her a small smile. “They disagreed on many things, but I don’t think their appreciation for New York was ever one of them. And please, don’t call him Mr. Stark. He gets a little… weird.”

“Weird?”

“Weird,” she confirmed, shaking her head.

“Huh,” Darcy said, and then the doors were parting and they were stepping onto the elevator. “Wow, that is a _lot_ of buttons.”

“Stark Tower goes into the ground nearly as far as it does the sky.”

“Whoa. No labels?”

Pepper shrugged. “Anyone who uses _this_ elevator should know what floor they need to go to, or,” and here she smiled mischievously, “they should know who to ask.”

“That would be me, Miss Lewis,” a male voice with a faint British accent resounded throughout the elevator.

Darcy quirked a brow at Pepper before addressing the voice, “And you would be?”

“I am JARVIS, Mr. Stark’s personal butler.”

“He’s an AI,” Pepper said, watching the younger woman for her reaction.

She blinked. “Do you identify more with Sonny or Skynet?” she asked after a moment.

The AI actually _sighed_.

“So, Sonny then?”

Pepper snorted. “Watch out, Tony might want to keep you.”

Darcy… did not think the redhead was kidding, and that was oddly comforting. She _wanted_ them to like her. She wasn’t looking to be adopted (especially not by _Tony Stark_ ) but a general appreciation for her person was her ultimate goal. And then, of course, she had to go and say something like: “I’m assuming you mean that in the ‘it-followed-me-home-ma’ sense and not the ‘it-puts-the-lotion-on-its-skin’ sense, yes?”

This time Pepper _laughed_ , looking just as surprised to be making that sound as Darcy was to be hearing it. She opened her mouth, but Darcy never found out what she was about to say because at that moment the elevator doors opened and Bucky was _right there._

“Hi,” he said.

“Hi,” she said.

“They weren’t exaggerating,” Pepper said, sounding a little awed and a lot amused.

Darcy took a step out of the elevator and was being wrapped up into a hug almost instantly, Bucky burying his face against her neck and sighing happily. She wormed her arms around his waist and settled in, smiling as she felt his heart speed up. “Hi,” she said again, and she knew – she just _knew_ \- that she was probably grinning like a moron, but she just didn’t _care_. “I’m sorry I’m late.”

“I’m just – “ he held her a little closer, somehow, “ – glad you’re here.”

“Are they – they’re doing it again. Do we need to get a crowbar?” Sam asked, tone indicating he was clearly kidding, though she couldn’t see his expression.

Bucky shifted his face from her neck to look at the newcomer.

“Just a suggestion,” Sam said. “Put away the sniper eyes, man.”

Darcy giggled and pressed her nose against Bucky’s shirt for one last deep breath before pulling back and away. Sam was standing just a few feet away with Pepper, and both were watching the duo with clear amusement on their faces. When she turned back, Bucky was giving her _that look_ , the one that made her want to throw all caution to the winds and drag him over to the nearest flat surface and –

Something of what she was thinking must have communicated itself on her face because Bucky’s eyes darkened and then he was letting her go slowly and shaking his head regretfully. He grabbed up one of her hands and pressed a quick kiss to the back of it. “I don’t think we’re quite there yet, doll.”

“Pretty sure I could get you there,” she muttered under her breath.

He coughed, sounding like he was choking on his tongue, and she shot him an innocent smile.

“So,” she said, turning to face Sam and Pepper, “this is a nice hallway you have here, but… is there a tour? An itinerary?”

“Eh, sort of,” Sam said, shrugging. “There’s brunch, if you’re hungry.”

“I could - _should_ \- eat,” she admitted. “Is everyone else in the kitchen?”

“Bruce and Jane are in their labs, Thor is with Jane – they’re soulmates. Everyone else is in the kitchen, yes.”

“Well. Okay then. Lets… get this show on the road,” Darcy said, trying to contain any show of her nerves to the tight grip she had on Bucky’s hand. He squeezed back gently and bumped his shoulder against hers as she started off down the hall.

They quickly came to what was clearly a branching area, as there were several halls leading off and doors as well. Sam and Pepper led them down one at a right angle from the elevators and pretty soon the sound of conversation reached them. Darcy heard Natasha, Steve, and a few other people she didn’t recognize. Sam and Pepper turned right and went through a wide archway and Darcy froze.

“You’ll be fine, doll. I promise,” Bucky said. “Trust me?” he asked, then looked like he immediately regretted it.

She paused, staring up at him, and then nodded. “Yeah, okay.”

It was, perhaps, a good thing that she instantly followed up on her words by heading into the kitchen. If she had seen the look Bucky gave her after her admission, they likely would not have been fit for company for quite some time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *aggressively drowns you all in fluff*
> 
> **EDIT: to the helpful readers who have pointed out that I _seriously_ flubbed the translation for "doll" - I'ma fix it, but it'll take me some time to go through each individual chapter and do it. Please know that your correction is appreciated and I _will_ be addressing it, thank you!**


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy longer-weekend-than-normal (in the US)!
> 
> Also: THANK YOU, RAINNE!

Darcy took two steps into the kitchen and then froze: first, because there was a lot to look at and second, because quite a few people were looking back at _her_. She blinked rapidly, eyes darting from person to person and unconsciously squared her stance, a habit she’d picked up in her first hospital tenure. “Um, hello?” she said, lifting one hand and giving an awkward wave.

“Darcy,” Natasha greeted, giving her a small smile and a brief nod. The redhead was seated at the long kitchen island, which appeared to be half chopping block and half table. There was a blond man Darcy didn’t immediately recognize slumped over in the seat beside her, face buried in his arms.

The other blond, the one every American over the age of three recognized on sight, gave her an answering wave and a smile. “Good afternoon, Darcy – have you eaten yet?” Steve asked. He was leaning against the cabinets that lined one wall, drinking something that steamed and made Darcy’s fingers twitch reflexively because _coffee_. Better yet, _non-break room_ coffee.

“I could probably eat. Is that coffee? Is there coffee?”

“Is there coffee?” a man scoffed, and Darcy flinched as Tony Stark appeared around a corner at the opposite end of the room. “This is a civilized place, there’s always coffee. And sometimes fancy tea, but those are mostly Bruce’s. Green tea for the green guy.” He continued around the island, coming to a halt barely a foot from her.

At the same time, Darcy felt Bucky – because who else would it be? – move closer, near enough that she could feel the heat of him all along her back. Instead of feeling crowded, Darcy felt… comforted. She leaned back against him a little, only half because Tony Stark exuded ten times as much personality in the flesh as he did in the papers. Bucky immediately lifted a hand to curl loosely around her hip, steadying her and supporting her.

“Oh god,” Tony said, wincing abruptly. He spun on his heel to face Natasha. “You were not exaggerating, their _faces_ , oh my _god_. I need an insulin shot.”

Darcy rolled her eyes, leaning her head back to attempt eye contact with Bucky. She had a disparaging comment on her lips about all this concern over their faces, but he was looking back at her and – _oh_. Darcy immediately looked back down, the heat rising in her cheeks made her certain she was doing her best tomato impression.

“You okay?” Bucky whispered, stirring the hair at the back of her neck.

“Fine!” she squeaked, stepping away out of sheer self-preservation. She headed towards Steve, who was clearly trying not to laugh at her. “So, coffee?” she asked brightly. “I would love some coffee, please. Not decaf, never decaf.”

“I do not stock decaf,” Tony said stiffly. “Anyone who brings decaf into my presence is fired immediately.”

Darcy turned to squint at him, not actually sure if he was kidding and unwilling to press.

Pepper, who had entered the kitchen with Sam, caught her eye and shook her head, rolling her eyes. “You don’t get to fire anyone anymore, remember?” the redhead said, trailing a hand along Tony’s shoulders as she headed toward the long line of chafing dishes along the back wall.

He scowled and – was he pouting? – sighed. “Remind why I gave up that privilege? I _liked_ firing people.”

“No you didn’t,” Natasha and Pepper said in unison, then exchanged small grins.

Tony twitched. “I hate it when they do that,” he muttered, so quietly Darcy nearly missed it.

Darcy felt a light press against her shoulder and turned to see Steve holding out a mug. “Not sure how you like it,” he said, “but there’re fixings of all sorts. I think Tony stocks every flavor of creamer that’s ever existed.”

Well, that was certainly a challenge Darcy was uniquely suited to test. She grinned, moving around Steve to get to the “fixings.” There were four kinds of sugar, two artificial sweeteners and a small fridge that was apparently solely devoted to creamer sitting beside a truly terrifying looking coffee maker with about six more tubes and glass canisters than she thought were probably necessary. She set her coffee down and turned, looking over the kitchen again and finding it to be mostly a modernist sort of aesthetic with a few homey touches and more than a few indicators that made her think “mad science.”

Her eyes halted on Bucky and stuck on his face, which was oddly blank. She’d never seen him like that before and she frowned to see it now. “Bucky?”

He twitched and it was like watching someone wake up. Light moved back into his eyes and he smiled at her, but there was something off about it. “Yeah, doll?”

Something was wrong.

Darcy bit her lip, torn between wanting to make a good impression on her soulmate’s friends and wanting to reassure herself that her soulmate was all right. “It’s noth – “ _fuck it_ , she thought. “Could you show me where the restroom is?”

“Yeah, sure.”

The kitchen was suspiciously quiet as they left, but Darcy was certain that a wealth of communication was going on in exchanged glances. She focused on Bucky, who was walking ahead of her, and tried not to let her eyes stray from his shoulders. There was a part of her that catalogued her surroundings, mostly noting the unusually wide hallways and spacious entryways. It seemed that the common area of the Tower was as open and airy as Tony Stark could make it. She approved.

“Here,” Bucky said, waving her towards a recessed doorway. “You all right?” he asked, seeing her face.

“Are _you?_ ” she asked bluntly, moving towards him. She stopped nearly a foot away, suddenly wary of closing that distance. “You’ve – “ she reached up, then dropped her hand, startling a little when Bucky grabbed it before it could reach her side again. He let go almost as soon as he caught her, staring at his own hand as if it had betrayed him and taking a large step back and away from her. “This!” Darcy said. “You’re… I don’t know _what_ you’re doing, pulling away? Did _I_ do something?”

“I thought _I_ did,” he said, watching her carefully. “In the kitchen?”

Darcy frowned, thinking back, and then groaned. She walked straight into Bucky, still grumbling under her breath, and hugged him until he hugged back (which took a gratifyingly brief amount of time) and the air whooshed out of him. He folded down and around her, pulling her somehow closer. “Just for the record,” Darcy said, muffled by his shoulder, “I didn’t pull away because I didn’t want you touching me. I pulled away because I wanted it _too much_. If you want me to make a good impression on your friends then you have to stop _looking at me like that._ ”

“How do you know how I’m lookin’ at you?” he asked, sounding amused.

“You do this thing, I’ve _seen it_ and your buddies won’t stop _commenting_ on it, where you look at me like I’m the best thing you’ve ever laid eyes on. It’s hard to keep my head on straight when you do that, and then with the _holding_ and the _touching_ , and you don’t even wanna kiss me – “

Bucky pulled back and stared down at her incredulously.

“Okay, you wanna kiss me,” she hastily corrected, “but you did stop, last night. I’m just pointing that out, you were the one who stopped.”

“Not because I don’t want you, I want you _too much._ ”

Darcy gave him a pointed look. “Gee,” she said dryly, “it’s almost like it’s hard to be coherent and make good decisions when someone is set on making your head spin.”

“I’m not doing it on purpose,” he pointed out, but the corner of his mouth was starting to climb and his grip on her had shifted a little, shifted with _intent_. Just enough that Darcy’s heart rate started to pick up.

She took a step back, holding up a hand when Bucky automatically leaned forward to follow. “Nope, nope, now you _would_ be doing it on purpose,” she pointed out. “I want to go back in there and be able to look your friends in the face without being super embarrassed and, um, _mussed_.”

“Mussed?” Bucky echoed, now outright _grinning_. His eyes traveled over her hair, to her lips, down to her shirt and then back up. He licked his lips and she knew, she just _knew_ , that he was imagining all the ways he could make her look ruffled. Their eyes locked and Darcy was leaning forward against her better judgment –

“If you two kiss then I’m gonna owe Tony money, and I _hate_ owing Tony money,” Sam drawled.

“You made a bet?” Darcy asked, pivoting to face him.

“Sweetheart, we bet on _everything._ You see the Lord of the Rings?”

“Yes?”

“You know the running kill count between Legolas and Gimli?”

“Yes?”

Sam shook his head. “It’s nothing on Natasha and Clint’s. I’m not sure what the forfeit is, and I don’t want to know, but that’s just the tip of the iceberg around here. Steve’s apparently got some sort of running bet with… a friend. He won’t tell me the details, just mails off ten bucks every so often.”

“You guys are weird,” Darcy decided.

“Hold onto that thought,” he advised. “If we’re weird, we’re less intimidating.”

Bucky moved then, sliding an arm around Darcy’s waist (more accurately, running his palm along her back to rest it against her hip). “You ready to go back?” he asked. “You sure you want to go back?” he teased, mischief written across his face.

Darcy drove her elbow into his side, making him wheeze out a laugh into her hair. “Lead the way, Sam,” she said brightly.

Take two of “meet the team” was a little easier. It helped that the three of them walked into an ongoing discussion instead of an expectant silence. Steve and Natasha were apparently debating a movie that Tony had added to “The List.” The capitals were so clear that Darcy was surprised at the lack of glowing neon sign.

“The List?” she asked, walking past Steve to _finally_ doctor her coffee. This time Bucky moved with her, leaning back on the counter and folding his arms while he watched her add cream and sugar. She had the strong suspicion that he was committing her actions to memory.

“Things I missed, things I need to catch up on,” Steve explained.

“And… uh, _Tony_ wants to add what to your list?”

“Blast from the Future,” Steve answered, rolling his eyes.

“They’re called _Back to the Future_ and _Blast from the Past_ , it’s not that hard, Capiscle!” Tony groaned.

Bucky’s shoulders shook minutely, and when she looked, she saw that his eyes were crinkling. Darcy immediately glanced back over to Steve, whose expression, when his eyes met hers, was suspiciously innocent. “Oh my god,” she murmured. “You’re a troll! You’ve probably already seen them both!”

“Would I do that?” Steve asked her, smiling so serenely that – were it not for Bucky’s continued shaking – Darcy would have doubted her conclusion.

“Total troll,” she said, shaking her head. “Makes sense, considering what I’m learning about this one,” she told him, pointing at Bucky.

“Oh really? What did you do, Buck?”

“Technically I didn’t do anything.”

“You have a face, and you know how to use it,” Darcy muttered.

Steve snorted, “She’s got your number, Buck.”

“Yeah,” he agreed, eyes gone warm and soft and –

“You’re doing it again,” she told him. “Making _that face._ ”

“Can’t help it, doll. Guess you’re just gonna have to get used to this face.”

“Ugh, I _can’t_ with you,” Darcy sighed, because it was better than throwing herself bodily at him and occupying his _face_ so he would stop with the _looks_. She turned and, fortified with coffee in her hand, arched a brow at the room at large. “So, brunch?”

Turned out that when Bucky said “brunch” what he meant was, “Food that may have been delivered from heaven or created by personal chefs someone sold their soul in order to hire” there were no in-betweens. There were crepes, there were waffles, every possible breakfast meat that Darcy could think of, and a few she would not have associated with “brunch,” as well as assorted fruits and veggies. It would have been overwhelming, but she had seen four of them eat the night previous and so she grabbed for what she really wanted quickly. Kind of like a holiday with the extended family: fight for your favorite food and defend against all comers.

She ended up seated between Bucky and Steve, Natasha and the now-awake second blond, Clint aka “Hawkeye,” were across from her. Pepper, Tony, and Sam sat at the ends, but there were still empty chairs left.

“Are there… people missing?” Darcy asked.

“Rhodey had a _thing_. With _people_ ,” Tony said, scowling and stabbing at his pile of bacon irritably.

“Rhodey has a day job,” Pepper explained. “The kind that comes with regularly scheduled hours.”

“Bruce, Jane, and Thor are still downstairs,” Sam said. “I know Jane was worried about you being overwhelmed, but it’s just as likely she forgot there were plans today and is caught up with her charts.”

“…charts?”

“Astrophysicist,” Steve explained.

“And Thor, is he actually…?”

“An alien? Yes. Actual Norse god? That’s debatable,” Natasha put in.

“Bruce is the one that turns green,” Clint offered helpfully. “He’s not good with stress. Not that you’re stressful! Trust me, having you here has been great compared to the last few months of pacing and panic and – “

Natasha neatly stuffed an entire roll into his open mouth and, judging by his muffled groan, somebody else had probably kicked him simultaneously.

“Pacing and panic?” Darcy asked.

“Your first few letters didn’t give us a whole lot to go on,” Tony explained, reminding Darcy that said letters had been _shared_ and _pored over_ by the entire team. “Speaking of which, what’s your issue with red? And gold? I – “

Pepper looked at him, arching a single brow.

“… not the time. Fine.”

“Pretty sure I mentioned the hair more than anything else,” Darcy said. She reached up and tugged on a lock of brown hair that he’d pushed behind his ear. “You’re still rocking the hobo chic look, though.”

“It’s… easier,” Bucky said quietly. “I kept my hair short – before.”

“Oh,” she said in a small voice. She let go of his hair and, in a fit of subtle maneuvering, tugged on the underside of his sleeve so he’d lower his hand under the table. She entwined their fingers, resting their joined hands against his thigh and stifling a smile when he let out a _very controlled_ breath. “You okay?” she asked, and this time it was her turn to try and hide the mischief in her eyes.

Bucky raised his eyebrows at her and started rubbing his thumb across the top of hers, lightly glancing over her wrist at every pass.

_Of course, you realize this means war,_ Darcy thought. Then, _Have they added Bugs Bunny to The List?_

“Um, is that the look that you said inspired Disney thoughts? Because that is not a G-rated look,” Clint got out before someone (Darcy didn’t actually see the trajectory well enough to guess) aimed a piece of sausage at his mouth. He chewed and swallowed, an amused look on his face. “Thanks, guys, the maple infused was gone by the time I got up there.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to thank everyone who has patiently waited for this chapter through my move and starting of a new job. I can't promise a regular posting schedule, but I can promise that this is not abandoned and I am not dead (just bitching about my recalcitrant muse and writing drabbles on tumblr).

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [The Reality of a Former Dreamer and Former Assassin/Hero](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2106807) by [Unseen_Wonder](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Unseen_Wonder/pseuds/Unseen_Wonder)
  * [Breaking (Saving) You](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2425625) by [Rainne](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rainne/pseuds/Rainne)




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